


A Willing Heart

by cardinalrachelieu



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Creature!Rhys, DO YOU THINK THEY'LL FALL IN LOVE??????, F/M, Human!Feyre, I honestly have no idea how to tag this, WE. JUST. DON'T. KNOW., feyre is a person desperate enough to seek his aid, gOSH I WONDER HOW THIS WILL END, rhys is a creature who devours hearts in exchange for his help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9199607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrachelieu/pseuds/cardinalrachelieu
Summary: Her love is dying, poisoned by a cruel sorceress. Feyre does the only thing she can think: she tracks down a daemati, one of the rare and terrible ancient beings rumored to have supernatural abilities—including that of healing.-----“Whatever you want, I’ll pay it. I can get you the money—”“I have no need for money,” he interrupted, standing with a preternatural smoothness and prowling towards me.I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, ignoring every instinct in me screaming that I should flee, and held my chin higher. “Then name your price.”There was a terrifying beauty about him, and I wondered if he was somehow related to the sirens I’d always heard tell of—creatures that lured men to their doom with a song so enticing it made them forget the dangers surrounding them.Darkness leaked from his body, trailing behind him in a inky pool that looked as though it might consume whatever was unfortunate enough to fall into its path, and he bared his teeth. “Your heart.”





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> note: you will see many similarities between this world and canon!prythian. they are not the same.

“Whatever you want, I’ll pay it. I can get you the money—”

“I have no need for money,” he interrupted, standing with a preternatural smoothness and prowling towards me.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, ignoring every instinct in me screaming that I should flee, and held my chin higher. “Then name your price.”

There was a terrifying beauty about him, and I wondered if he was somehow related to the sirens I’d always heard tell of—creatures that lured men to their doom with a song so enticing it made them forget the dangers surrounding them.

Darkness leaked from his body, trailing behind him in a inky pool that looked as though it might consume whatever was unfortunate enough to fall into its path, and he bared his teeth. “Your heart.”

The word turned to ash on my tongue, but I managed to nod and croak, “Done.”

“Very well,” he intoned, feline grace driving his movements. “But I need to hear the words.”

“I p—” I tried, the sounds I knew I needed to say dying in my throat. “I p—promise you my h—heart.”

A flash of blue erupted across the meadow as the magic took hold, a bargain neither of us could undo now that it had been struck.

_This is my fault,_ I told myself to keep the panic at bay, closing my eyes as he stalked ever closer. _It’s only fair that I should be the one to pay._

“You may call me Rhysand,” he purred in my ear, circling around me like a wolf, though I imagined a wolf was a far less dangerous creature than him.

I opened my eyes, whipping my head around to find him. “You’re not… going to—”

“No, Feyre darling,” he laughed, dark and foreboding and yet, somehow, soothing.

I tried not to blanche at the realization he knew my name. I couldn’t recall ever giving it to him…

Then, grinning widely and with a sparkle in his violet eyes, “That comes much later.”

“So what happens now?” I was angry at how my voice wobbled, at how scared I sounded.

“That,” he said with a roguish grin, “is entirely up to you.”

“I want to get moving.” My heart thundered in my chest, each of his unnaturally feline movements activating the alarms buried deep in my psyche, some remnant of a time when creatures like him had hunted humans like me to near extinction.

“As you wish,” he breathed.

 

* * *

 

“Ah-ah,” he tsked, swishing his index finger from side to side and arching an eyebrow in challenge.

I stopped my fist just inches from his face, muscles shaking, longing to unleash their rage on the creature standing before me. _Daemati,_ he’d called himself, boasting of his ability to heal mortal wounds… for a price.

“Touching me drains my energy, remember?”

Had it not been for the harpies circling overhead, I would’ve screamed. I would’ve yelled and cursed and called upon every single one of the Old Gods to smite him where he stood, smirking at me like he knew every thought racing through my mind.

_Perhaps he does,_ I told myself. It would certainly explain how he knew which buttons to push to get the biggest reaction out of me.

His grin only widened.

I settled for a low growl and trudged past him, careful not to let my shoulder knock him to the ground the way I really, _really_ wanted to.

_You need him,_ I reminded myself, thoughts drifting to the way Tamlin had looked—ghostly pale and shivering as the poison worked through his system, snaking ever-closer to his heart.

“Let’s go,” I ground out when I noticed he wasn’t trailing behind me anymore.

“Are you always this bossy?” he drawled, but I could hear the leaves rustling beneath his feet again.

_Only when I’m stuck with a petulant, narcissistic prick who doesn’t seem to realize a man will_ die _if we don’t hurry._

“Do you love him?” he said, a sort of aloof interest in his tone I hadn’t yet heard in the hours we’d been hiking together through the Steppes. “This man who might die,” he clarified when I glared at him with annoyed confusion.

_Great. So he_ can _hear my thoughts._

“Of course I can, but only because you’re leaving your mind wide open.”

“Stay out of my fucking head,” I mumbled harshly, gritting my teeth and refusing to look at him.

“Darling, I’m not _in_ your head. You’re practically shouting your thoughts at me.” He paused, laughing lightly. “Even an untrained _seer_ could hear what’s going through _your_ head.”

_Then stop fucking listening,_ I sneered, knowing he’d heard the words just as clearly as if I’d yelled them.

“Cute,” he huffed. “But you haven’t answered the question.”

“What question.” I kept my eyes trained forward, focusing on the reds and oranges of the foliage lining our path. If he was able to read social cues—which was a big _if_ considering what I’d experienced thus far—he’d understand that I had no desire to talk about Tamlin. Not with him, anyway.

“This man we’re en route to save—Tamlin, I believe you called him.”

_Mind reading prick._

“Yes I am, but quit changing the subject, darling.”

I rolled my eyes but met his gaze. It was softer than I’d expected it to be.

“Do you love him?” he said earnestly, gaze boring into me.

I flicked my eyes over him, unsure of where this was coming from. “What do you care?”

“Humor me.”

“If you must know,” I sighed, mostly wanting him to just leave me alone, “yes.”

He hummed, and for a long while we walked in silence, a safe distance between us, the only sound the crunching of the fallen leaves underneath our boots. Memories of Tamlin swirled together, each one tarnished by the knowledge that death was lurking just around the bend, creeping ever closer as the poison did its job.

_I never should’ve challenged that witch. I never should’ve invited her wrath upon_ —

“Would you care to learn how to shield your mind?” Rhysand’s smooth timbre pulled me from my spiral.

“Why?” I scoffed. _It’s not like I’m going to be alive much longer anyway._

He winced, and immediately my eyes swept over him to check for some injury that would’ve caused the reaction. Finding nothing out of place, I went back to thinking about Tamlin, writing off his show of pain to an acorn pressing into his sole or something of the ilk.

“For one, all those sad thoughts about Tamlin could stay private, and secondly—”

“Teach me,” I rushed, even before he’d finished speaking, desperate for some semblance of privacy again.

A wry smile curled up the edges of his mouth. “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

It was easier than I’d expected—protecting my thoughts.

_It’s because I’m an excellent teacher,_ he teased, and I realized instantly that I’d let my wall drop.

_Prick,_ I hissed before snapping my shield back in place, a rumbling laughter washing against the other side of it harmlessly.

“You’re a natural,” he continued.

“And _you’re_ dragging.” Our pace had slowed over the last hour, mostly because Rhysand had been instructing me on the nuances of maintaining a sound mental barrier. “Let’s move.”

I quickened my strides and he matched me, falling into step to my right.

“Why are you so eager to get back to this love of yours?” he pried.

“He’s dying,” I said dryly, not really wanting to dwell on Tamlin’s current condition or the limited amount of time I had left in this world. “I thought I made that clear when I asked for your help.”

He made a contemplative noise. “And you’re truly willing to sacrifice your heart for this man—this Tamlin?”

“I agreed to it, didn’t I?” I grumbled, tone turning sour.

“Indeed you did,” he said, curious, “but—”

“I’m done talking about this.”

I intentionally took longer steps, moving ahead of him and away from the conversation that too sharply reminded me of the fate that awaited me as soon as we made it back to the Spring Court. Tamlin would live, would go on to do a number of great things for his people, but I… I…

“As you wish,” I heard Rhysand say a moment later, voice soft enough that I barely registered the words.

 

* * *

 

“Feyre darling,” he whined, “I’m tired. Can’t we _please_ take a break?”

“I didn’t realize gods _could_ get tired,” I panted, leaning against a tree, secretly grateful that he’d asked to stop.

“You flatter me.” The grin he flashed me was dazzling as he pulled a canteen from thin air and took a long, deep drink from it.

I’d seen such parlor tricks before, but none of the witches had ever been able to do them with such ease. Rhysand, however, had simply flicked his wrist and the metal canister had instantly appeared in his palm.

He released a satisfied sigh after taking a final gulp. “Daemati are much closer to demigods, though,” he finished, smiling as he offered me the bottle.

Carefully, I took it from his grip, making sure our fingers didn’t brush as I did so.

The water was unfairly cold, refreshing in all the best ways. “Any chance you’ll teach me how to do _that_?” I nodded toward the canteen I still held.

“Unfortunately,” he chuckled, “I think that particular ability requires skills you do not possess.”

I took another sip. “Shame,” I said, passing the bottle back to him. “Being able to summon ice-cold water at will would certainly come in handy.” Something akin to a smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth.

“Indeed.” His eyes glinted in the afternoon light, their strange violet color looking brighter than it had all day. “Lucky for you,” he quipped, disappearing the canister back into whatever pocket realm he’d called it from to begin with, “you have me here to retrieve it for you.”

I smiled, and then I remembered _why_ he was with me. “Yeah,” I said soberly. “Lucky me.”

Wordlessly, I pushed off the tree I’d been leaning against and took deliberate steps back onto the trail. If we kept up the current pace, we could make it another ten miles before sundown, which would leave only half-a-day’s journey until we were back in the Spring Court, and, with any luck, Tamlin just might survive.

“C’mon,” I called, and, dutifully, he followed after me. “I want to make it out of the Steppes before nightfall.”

“As you wish,” he murmured, trailing behind me.

 

* * *

 

“So… where does your power come from exactly?”

He’d been staring into the campfire, unblinking, lost to some memory. It made him look… younger, somehow; more human. With night enveloping us, it was easy to forget he had tendrils of that consuming blackness nipping at his ankles.

“Do my ears deceive me,” he said, amused, “or are you trying to strike up a conversation?”

“Forget I said anything,” I grumbled, quickly standing up from the stone I’d been sitting on while I ate the dinner he’d conjured up, all the while trying not to think about why he wasn’t joining me in the act.

“No, wait—” he called, reaching for me.

I jerked away from him, half because of what he’d told me about his abilities and half because he’d startled me by moving so quickly.

“I—” He gathered himself, rolling his shoulders back as he straightened his spine. “I wasn’t always like… this,” he said, gesturing to himself, to the darkness rippling off him. “I was human once, several centuries ago.”

I lost my breath for a moment. _How old are you?_ I wondered.

He clicked his tongue. “It’s impolite to ask a daemati their age.”

Hurriedly, I flung my shield back up, making a note to be more careful about maintaining it.

“You’re getting better at that,” he noted, a look of pride on his face.

“What did you mean you were human?” I said, ignoring his praise.

“Unlike some of the other ghoulish beasts in these lands,” he explained, “daemati are made rather than born.”

“Made?” I questioned, furrowing my brows.

“The human soul cries out when it experiences a great enough loss,” he began, eyes turning glassy, “and that cry attracts a creature known as the bogge.”

“That’s just a myth.” Sound barely came out, but he heard me all the same.

“I can assure you it is _not_ ,” he said, a sadness coating the words. “And it is indeed the creature of nightmares your folktales make it out to be.” He paused before continuing, temporarily getting lost in the memory. “The bogge offers a choice to those it visits: be devoured, for it is sustained by the souls of the weary, or become… like it. At the time, I thought the latter was preferable to getting consumed…” His gaze hardened. “But I was wrong.”

A chill went down my spine. “Rhys…”

“It was painful, the transformation, but it was over quickly. And afterward… afterward I knew a power so great that it threatened to tear me apart from the inside.” He cracked his neck and set his jaw. “But there are rules—a balance that must be maintained. And every time I touch a human, that store of power gets completely drained.”

_That must be incredibly lonely,_ I thought, beginning to understand this creature—this man—in front of me one small piece at a time.

“When the bogge made me,” he continued, “fragments of itself, of its power, became my own. The bogge derives nourishment from souls of the weary.” He laughed, a broken, hollow sound. “I derive nourishment from—”

“Hearts,” I finished, my own plunging somewhere south of my ribcage.

“Hearts of those desperate enough to seek my aid,” he corrected, something like disgust flashing across his face. “And I’ll continue to do so until…” he took a deep breath. “Until someone willingly gives me their heart. And considering how most people aren’t too eager to part with that particular piece of themselves, I imagine I’ll be at it for quite some time, given that daemati are immortal.”

“Rhysand—”

“Rhys. Please keep calling me Rhys. It…” he trailed off, clenching his jaw several times as he stared into the distance. “No one has called me that in many years.”

“Rhys,” I began again, eager to focus on anything but the idea that he would later be consuming _my_ heart, “you said that the bogge appears because a human experiences a great loss…”

“Go on,” he encouraged, eyes gentle but guarded.

“What loss did you experience?”

“My entire clan was slaughtered by a vengeful warlord,” he said bluntly, distantly. “Parents, sister, friends—everyone I knew, killed, all in the same night.”

I gasped, hand reflexively covering my mouth, and it looked like my reaction had hurt him somehow by the way he looked at me.

“I was spared so that I could warn the other clans of his resolve, of what he would do to them should they stand against him. He’d failed to consider, however,” Rhys’s expression turned feral, “that the other clans wouldn’t be the ones he needed to worry about.” A sneer caused his lips to twitch. “His was the first heart I consumed, and I feel no remorse for it. Perhaps that makes me a monster, perhaps that’s what _made_ me a monster, but I don’t regret it. I’d end him again given the chance,” he said harshly, face a mask of stone, “with or without my abilities.”

_The Nox Clan massacre…_ I processed a moment later, after the initial shock had worn off. _But that was… nine hundred years ago… And he’s been a daemati_ — _been alone_ — _all this time..._

“Rhys,” I breathed, reaching for him, wanting to comfort him in some way, despite what he was, despite the deal I’d made.

He shook his head and I froze, hands inches from his chest. “You can’t,” he said softly, swallowing. “Touching me drains my energy… remember?”

There was a tempest raging behind his eyes, a fierce violet more brilliant than any of the bioluminescent fields on Prythian.

“Right,” I whispered, clearing my throat. Then, more assertively, “Right.”

“It’s fine,” he said, shaking his head to chase away the demons. “I hardly think of them anymore. It’s been several lifetimes now since they passed.”

“Tell me about them,” I managed, his grief threatening to overwhelm me if I dwelled on it too long. “Your clan, your sister, your friends.”

A softness washed over his features, tempering the rage that had been burning so brightly moments ago. “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

Lucien crouched on a stool near Tamlin’s bed, knee bouncing wildly, his head whipping around instantly when he heard the door creak as I pushed it open.

“Feyre, thank the gods.” He was up and crushing me to his chest before I had a chance to respond. “Is this the… creature?” he whispered, as if that would keep his question between just the two of us, chin jutting towards the dark-haired demigod crowding the doorway behind me, swirls of shadow billowing off him in continuous waves.

“His name is Rhys—” I said without thinking, brushing past him. Then, immediately, “How’s Tamlin?”

“Not good,” Rhys replied before Lucien could get a word out, brows knitting together as he took even strides into the grand bedroom.

“Then fix him,” Lucien nearly growled, and I placed my hand on the emissary’s chest to keep him from stepping forward, from coming into contact with Rhys.

“Is he always this demanding?” Rhys asked casually, rolling up his sleeves before sinking down onto the stool Lucien had previously been perched on. “My goodness,” he sneered, a mixture of amazement and revulsion, “there’s a great many things your Tamlin hasn’t told you, Feyre darling.”

“Rhys, please,” I breathed, gaze flicking between him and a very pale, very weak-looking Tamlin.

“Are you certain?” he pressed, holding my stare, reminding me of the weight of my decision.

“Yes.” I nearly choked on the word, hated the way it felt on my tongue.

He clenched his jaw, staring at me a moment longer before he whispered, “As you wish,” and laid his bare palms on Tamlin’s shuddering chest.

 

* * *

 

“I’m ready,” I said, the two of us standing alone, together, in the gardens behind the estate. Rhys looked thoroughly depleted, the violet of his eyes more of a dull lavender and his skin several shades lighter than normal.

He’d been true to his word. Tamlin was still weak, but he was recovering.

I let my eyes drift closed. I would keep my word as well, but I didn’t think I could bare to watch Rhys turn into the horrible creature driven by its need for human hearts.

“Goodbye, Feyre darling,” Rhys drawled, footsteps growing quieter as he retreated.

“I—what?” Death. I’d expected death. My eyes shot open to find him already halfway across the garden.

"I'll be back to collect on our deal," he tossed over his shoulder.

Relief washed over me. Alive. I was alive—and going to stay that way, at least for the time being.

"Wait!" I called, silently cursing myself for tempting fate. He spun to face me slowly, exhaustion plain on his features. "When? When will you return?"

He chuckled, winking at me before he turned back around. "Goodbye, Feyre." And then he was gone.

I crumpled to the ground, knees giving out underneath me, and tried to catch my breath, tried to will myself into a state of calm.

"Feyre!" Lucien shouted, running over to where I sat in the middle of the courtyard. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you. Tamlin's asking for you, has been for nearly half an hour now."

"Who?" I said, not quite paying attention, staring at the two hedges Rhys had disappeared between a moment ago.

"Tamlin.” Lucien spoke slowly, sounding confused. “Your fiancé. He's awake and asking for you."

"Right." I shook off the daze clouding my thoughts and pushed myself off the ground to face Lucien fully. "Right. Where is he?"


	2. Part II

“Feyre darling, it’s time.” His voice was depthless, dark, full of years of sorrow and even more of isolation.

I arched a brow, not looking up from the book I was reading as I lay sprawled on the suede-covered settee in the sitting room. The light was always better this time of day in the East Wing of the estate. Plus, the house staff rarely ventured over here, meaning I could read in silence.

“Are you serious this time?” He’d come for me three times now, each time returning me to the estate unharmed, if a little annoyed by the interruption.

I flicked my gaze up to him, trying to pin him to the door he always seemed determined to lean against.

“I’m always serious,” he intoned, straightening one of the cuffs of his midnight-black suit—the outfit he’d taken to wearing most days regardless of the weather. There was a playful glint in his eyes that made it clear this would amount to nothing more than a leisurely stroll through the woods beyond the estate grounds.

I snapped my book shut and grabbed my coat, careful not to brush against him as I walked by.

Tamlin and Lucien were away on a diplomatic trip, making it easier for the two of us to wander undisturbed, and we made it to the forest without drawing the attention of any of the people tending the grounds.

“I’m beginning to think you have a soft spot for me,” I teased, ducking under the branch he’d lifted out of my path.

Barely any leaves were left on most of the trees in the grove, a mosaic of red and orange and yellow covering the forest floor underneath our feet.

“Now that’s absolutely preposterous.” He let the branch flop back to its original position, smoothly falling into step beside me once more.

“What would the other daemati say?” I tsked.

“Nothing, I imagine, since they won’t hear about any such ‘soft spot’ because you’ll be dead before you can tell them.” He grinned at me, baring his teeth, but I recognized the show for what it was. A dried twig cracked under his boot, punctuating the expression on his face.

“Ooh, I’m terrified,” I mocked.

One day he would truly come for my heart, but not today. Today I was safe. Today we were free to roam together uninhibited, the dark cloud of death miles and miles away on the horizon.

“As you should be,” he said somberly, turning his gaze to the frost-covered flora surrounding us. “I’m a monster, Feyre.”

I stopped in my tracks, turning to face him head on, and he matched my movements. “Okay, so then take my heart already.” A challenge—and one I knew he wouldn’t meet.

“I couldn’t possibly,” he replied, grinning slowly and taking relaxed steps forward again. “I’ve got a full schedule.”

“You’re insufferable,” I grumbled, fisting my hands in the full skirt of my navy gown. “This is worse than just _actually_ dying, you know.”

“Well.” He continued stalking ahead as he spoke, craning his neck so the words would reach me. “I think that’s being a _bit_ dramatic, don’t you?”

I tripped on a tree root as I rushed to catch up, and his hands froze halfway to catching me. I righted myself a moment later, both of us pretending like we hadn’t almost touched, both of us ignoring what that would mean.

“Why am I still alive, Rhysand?” Annoyed. I was getting annoyed with this game of his. It was _exhausting_ to always be wary of a death that could come calling for me at any time, whenever Rhys finally grew tired of me, grew tired of whatever spark he’d initially seen that had caused him to spare me.

 _“Rhysand?”_ he balked, bordering on offended. “We’re back to that now, are we?”

“Answer the question.” I’d never been good at giving commands, but this one sounded intimidating.

“Our _deal_ ,” he began, taking steps forward again, “specifies that I had to heal your lover.”

 _Lover_. The word didn’t seem right—not anymore; not when we hadn’t been intimate since his miraculous recovery.

“I just want to make sure he’s truly healthy before I collect on the debt. I can’t have word of sub-quality services getting around,” he teased, following up a moment later with, “Very bad for business.”

I fell into step beside him, grateful every time he lifted a low-hanging branch out of my way. “He hasn’t suffered from anything more serious than seasonal allergies in two months now.” His series of non-answers was beginning to grate on me.

“The poison that was in his system is known to cause lasting health problems,” he mused, feet treading carefully over the uneven ground, his polished black shoes looking hopelessly out of place. “One can never be too careful.”

I sighed, giving up on trying to get a direct response. Rhys would be happy to continue that dance all day if I allowed it. “Before you healed him,” I backtracked, switching topics, “you mentioned that Tamlin hadn’t told me… things.” I met his eyes—a bright, rich violet in such stark contrast to all the brown surrounding us—before asking, “What did you mean by that?”

A falling leaf attached itself to his shoulder, though it turned to ash the second he flicked it away, engulfed by the telltale blue glow of magic.

“Perhaps you should ask your _lover_ that question,” he said pointedly, gaze shifting to me to measure my reaction.

I pressed down on the odd tingling feeling in the base of my neck whenever he used _that_ word. “I’m asking _you_.”

“Ah, so loverboy hasn—”

“Would you stop _calling_ him that!” I burst, rooting myself where I stood and calming my nerves a moment later—a moment _too_ late, judging by the stare he was giving me.

Rhys looked at me with a dangerous curiosity, and I couldn’t find it within myself to meet his eyes.

“His name is Tamlin,” I rushed, moving forward again, avoiding his gaze entirely. “Call him that.”

He hesitated before replying, cautiously, “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

“Tamlin…” I ventured, stepping closer to him as he worked diligently on some draft of a massive document that took up every square inch of his desk. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course, dear.” His smile was warm and his eyes soft when they found mine, and suddenly it was very easy to remember why I’d accepted his proposal.

Father had been so pleased—so _amazed_ —I’d found a man as wealthy and as kind as Tamlin to be my husband. A few months from now, after the ground had finally thawed and the flowers returned, we would be wed, making my title as his wife—his Lady—official.

A pit of regret settled deep in my stomach. The deal with Rhysand was binding. Magic like that could not be undone, and so one day I would have to pay the price for my choice. Fantasies about an easy life with an adoring husband dissolved, leaving only a line of moisture along the rims of my eyes.

“Do you remember the day you were healed?” My voice wobbled a bit, but I got control of it by the last word.

I took light steps toward where he sat, his hand-carved chair looking much like a throne and the beam of sunlight reflecting off his golden hair looking much like a crown. I’d made the right call, in trading my heart for his life. He was good for this Court, good for his people, and, though he would deny it, his life was more important than mine.

“Vaguely,” he said, knitting his brows together and scribbling something onto the document. “Why do you ask?”

“I need to tell you something about it.”

I’d kept the secret of my bargain long enough, and he deserved to know why I would one day turn up dead or missing. For weeks now I’d put off telling him for fear of  how he’d react, but it was time. Maybe he would stop taking so many trips if he knew that our days together were numbered…

I needed to be careful with how I broke the news, though, to make him understand that he couldn’t fight for my freedom. _My_ heart was the one marked by magic, and no amount of brute strength could change that.

I swallowed, hard, taking the final step toward him. “But first… first…”

I couldn’t seem to finish the question. I didn’t know what I was so nervous about. Tamlin had always been honest with me. I owed him the benefit of the doubt in this, for whatever _thing_ he’d kept from me, as Rhys had mentioned. It was probably just a misunderstanding—some detail of his life before me he’d omitted because he’d deemed it irrelevant. Whatever it was, it would probably turn out to be nothing.

He looked up from his work, and, noticing my face, sighed and leaned back in his chair, pulling me onto his lap in the process, the pens and parchment in front of us forgotten. “Out with it.”

“Well,” I tried again, “the man who healed you—”

“The daemati, you mean?”

“Yes,” I said, letting out a small laugh and shaking my head as if to clear it. “Yes, the daemati.”

He placed a quick kiss to my jawline. “What about him?”

“Well, he…” Tamlin’s lips felt so warm against the column of my throat. I almost wanted to forget the conversation entirely and just get lost in the feel of it, of him. But I _needed_ to know. I _needed_ to ask this. “He said something about you keeping secrets from me.”

Immediately he pulled back, face blank and unreadable. “What an odd thing for him to say.”

“That’s what I thought, too, but…” My gaze blurred.

“But…?” he coaxed.

“But what reason would he have to make something like that up?” My words had tapered off into a whisper by the time I’d reached the end of the sentence. Unintentional though it might’ve been, I was calling Tamlin’s word into question. I’d never challenged him like this. I’d never had _cause_ to challenge him like this.

He pulled me closer to him, resting his head in the space between my neck and shoulder. “I have no idea,” he said easily, using his thumb to rub a gentle circle across my ribcage, “but creatures like that can’t be trusted, darling—”

I jerked backwards, meeting his eyes. “What did you say?”

He looked confused. “Creatures like that—”

“No,” I stopped him, “at the end.”

“Darling?”

“Don’t use t—” I caught myself, pressing my eyes closed to recenter my thoughts. “Please don’t call me that.”

I tried not to think about why I’d reacted so strongly to that word. It wasn’t like Rhys _owned_ it, but it was a reminder of him, of what my future held. And I didn’t want to think of _him_ while I was wrapped up in my fiancé’s arms.

“Very well, dearest.” His words pulled me from my trance. Tamlin looked at me warily but continued to trace soothing patterns on the bodice of my burgundy-toned dress, even going to far as to press another chaste kiss just below my chin. “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh, just…” The words caught in my throat, and I couldn’t—didn’t _want_ to tell him about the promise I’d made to Rhys. “It’s nothing.”

“Feyre,” he said gingerly, brushing a calloused palm over my cheek, “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know.” My voice sounded small, and I couldn’t find the strength to meet his eyes.

“What’s bothering you, dear? What did you come in here to tell me?”

“It’s just—” I began again, but the words still wouldn’t come. “The daemati mentioned the poison used on you could have lasting effects.” It was _a_ truth but not _the_ truth I’d walked in the room intending to speak aloud. I wondered if he could tell the difference.

“Is that what’s been concerning you these past few weeks?” he said delicately, brushing a thumb lightly over my cheek.

_So he has noticed a change in me…_

“Feyre—” he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear “—I’m perfectly fine. In fact, I’ve never felt better.”

“Good,” I said, swallowing the feeling that he was withholding something from me. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“You have nothing to worry about, dearest.”

I tried to smile at his reassurance, but the expression didn’t feel natural.

 _He’s a good man,_ I told myself.

I didn’t turn away when he tipped my chin down and brought his lips to mine.

 

* * *

 

“The next time you decide to let Tamlin bed you, Feyre darling,” Rhys drawled, popping into existence just beside where I was walking through the winter-ravaged garden, “be a dear and keep those mental shields up.”

It had been two weeks since he’d last called for me, the number of days between his visits decreasing each time. The previous night Tamlin and I had lain in the same bed for the first time since he’d been healed, and I could still feel a dull ache between my thighs from where his hips had met mine—again and again and again.

I felt my cheeks flush even as my anger burned bright, and I whirled to face him. “How _dare_ you.”

His tone had been teasing but there was something serious swirling behind those violet eyes.

“It’s not _my_ fault you were blasting your experience out like that,” he countered, sheathing his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

_“Prick.”_

He smirked. “Yes, yes, but I’m a prick who appreciates a good night’s sleep.”

Rhys turned his back to me and began walking toward the edge of the forest. Before I knew what I was doing, my shoe was in my hand and I was hurling it at him with all the force I could muster.

It never reached its target, however, because Rhys snatched it in midair, not even bothering to look at what he’d caught.

He turned around slowly, my shoe erupting in a blue aura before dissolving to dust. The tendrils of night around him flared out excitedly, and there was a sparkle in his eyes as he said, “That’s quite an arm you’ve got—”

“Leave,” I seethed, not caring that I could feel the cold bite of the earth against my bare foot or that I had just attacked a demigod capable of destroying me on the spot.

He angled his head to the side innocently. “So no walk today?”

_“Leave.”_

He grinned in a way that had me wanting to throw my other shoe at his head, futile as it was.

“As you wish,” he breathed, vanishing from sight.

 

* * *

 

“Your Tamlin,” Rhys mused. “How does he feel about me stealing you away like this?”

I remained quiet, unsure of how to answer him.

White blanketed the ground around us, and the air smelled of fresh, crisp pine. It had been a full week since he’d ambushed me in the garden, but in that time I’d taken special care to monitor the barrier around my mind on the nights Tamlin had chosen to visit my quarters. Rhys hadn’t commented about it again, so I presumed that meant I was doing my job just fine.

He let out a little gasp before he said, “Oh, I see. You haven’t told him about our little arrangement.”

Nervously, I checked the wall encasing my mind.

“Your shields are impeccable, Feyre.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m simply good at reading you.”

I glared at him, opening a tiny sliver in my wall. _Prick,_ I seethed before sealing up the barrier once more.

“Prick I may be,” he laughed shallowly, “but at least I’ve never intentionally hidden something from you, darling.”

I stomped forward, avoiding a fallen branch, jagged bits of the broken section snagging on the hem of my dress and slowing me down. “What I do or don’t tell Tamlin is none of your concern.”

He caught up to me with a few quick steps. “May I ask _why_ you’ve chosen not to tell him?”

“There’s nothing _to_ tell,” I grumbled, deliberately not looking at him.

“Come now, Feyre,” he chided. “We both know that’s not true.”

I folded my frustration into a neat box, tucking it away. Reacting strongly would only make him want to keep pulling on the thread he’d stumbled upon. “He’d likely try to challenge you, and I don’t want him to get hurt.” It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the whole truth.

Rhys flicked his wrist and a wall of vines appeared ahead of me, blocking my path. I grit my teeth but stopped, facing him.

“Are you sure that’s the reason?” he pressed, tilting his jaw upward and looking down on me with curiosity. Then, lifting a brow, “I might consider going easy on him if you asked nicely.”

Again, I checked my shields, but there was no evidence they’d failed. “Why else wouldn’t I tell him about you?”

“Perhaps because you enjoy our little chats more than you care to admit.”

He took a step closer.

“Perhaps because you quite like spending time with me.”

Another step.

“Perhaps you’re worried that, if you tell him, you’ll lose access to the one person who understands you best of all.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “You think quite highly of yourself.”

A final step, and I suddenly realized he was close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his body, the wisps of darkness licking at the muddied hem of my dress.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, like he’d finally found a missing piece of a puzzle, and dropped his voice so that it sounded like he was giving up a secret. “Or perhaps you’re upset with him keeping secrets from you so you’ve decided to keep one of your own.”

I said nothing, forcing my expression to remain neutral, and, thankfully, he didn’t push the matter.

“I think I’m ready to go back to the estate now.”

He again flicked his wrist, and the vines retreated into the evergreens around us.

“As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

“Stay very still, Feyre.”

“Wh—”

“No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, keep your shields up.” He stepped in front of me, facing away, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “And if you’d like to live through this, I suggest not making a single noise.”

I clamped my mouth shut and fortified the barrier around my mind, fighting the shiver that ran through my body.

It was as if he’d opened the floodgate on his powers. Glittering, ebony swirls cascaded off of him, blanketing his body in a cape of darkness, blurring the line between his clothes and his magic. Even the air around us seemed darker somehow, bits of his own night bleeding into the grove of trees and eclipsing the late-afternoon glow.

 _“Rhys_ —” a voice breathed, sounding like wind and shadows given life “— _and.”_

A chill settled into my bones, burrowing deep into my soul. I closed my eyes and focused on maintaining the wall encasing my thoughts.

“Our business has been settled,” Rhys said, tone even and ruthless.

Whispers of lost souls echoed all around me, begging to be released from their prison.

 _“Heart…”_ the voice exhaled, the sound like daggers piercing ice.

“The deal is not yet complete.”

All sounds of life had fled the forest, even the soft rustling of the winter-bare trees.

 _“Soon…”_  The voice was death and decay, loneliness and isolation, hypnotic and terrifying.

“It was my bargain and I will collect on it when I see fit,” he said forcefully. “Now be gone.”

In an instant, the disembodied chatter around us disappeared and that crushing feeling of hopelessness was gone. Slowly, light again began filtering through the trees and Rhys reigned in his power once more.

I was quiet for another long moment before my lips moved of their own free will. “ _What_ was that?”

“That,” he said, a bit breathless as he rotated back around to face me, “Feyre darling, was the bogge.”

“That was the creature that turned you…”

He nodded. “Into a daemati, yes.”

My blood ran cold through my veins. “You faced that thing as a human and _lived?_ ”

“Believe me,” he murmured, a sadness in his tone, “it was not an accomplishment. I’d hardly call my existence ‘living.’”

Even with the bogge gone, the memory of it still haunted me. I doubted I’d be able to get a good night’s rest for days.

“The voices I heard…” I flicked my eyes up to his, hoping he would understand what I was trying to ask.

“Were the souls it has consumed over the millennia,” he finished, confirming what I already knew to be true.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm my nerves and get my trembling hands back under control.

“You did very good just then, Feyre.” He sounded almost… proud. “I could hardly sense you, even with the knowledge that you were right behind me.”

I nodded, gulping down the last traces of my fear.

“Would you like to return to the estate?” he said softly, dipping his head a bit to catch my gaze.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, I’d—I’d like to keep walking. With you.”

The makings of a smile found the corners of his mouth. “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

“Rhys?” I said groggily, thinking maybe he was just a lingering ghost from a dream, but then I was able to make out his features. His whole body was convulsing as he stood in the patch of moonlight just in front of my balcony doors. “What’re you—”

The sound of his arrival had been like a whip in the crisp winter air, loud and sharp enough to wake me from sleep. _Winnowing,_ he’d once called the action—the way he transported himself from place to place instantly on a whim. Only normally... it was silent.

 _Something’s wrong_.

I slid my body to the edge of the bed and carefully lowered my feet to the marble floor, taking a couple of steps toward him.

He was hunched over, hair disheveled in a way I’d never seen before.

“Stay back,” he growled, continuing to shake and refusing to move from where he’d appeared, refusing to look at me directly.

“Rhys—”

“ _Stay back!”_ he repeated, dropping to a knee, violent tremors wracking his whole body. The bits of skin I could see peeking through his clothes were pale— _too_ pale.

I bent down to meet his eyes. “Rhys, tell me what to do. Tell me how to help y—”

_Stay back!_

My wall had crumbled, and I heard the guttural command clear as a bell as it echoed through my mind. He was struggling to keep his eyes focused as he stared at me, shackling himself with invisible restraints.

This was the beast of nightmares, the beast the legends were based on, the beast who stole mortal hearts to survive. The violet of his eyes was that same smoky lavender color I’d observed after he’d healed Tamlin, and the darkness gathered around him like a cocoon, lurching outward as if it were grabbing for something—or some _one_ , I realized.

Quicker than I meant to, I took a step backward.

One by one the tips of his fingers began to transform into claws, glistening black talons that could shred flesh and ruin muscle. I could hazard a guess as to what purpose they served.

“Rhys, talk to me. Tell me how I can make this stop.” I sounded more confident than I felt, like the sight before me _didn’t_ make me want to hurl my guts up and run the other direction.

“Don’t you see, Feyre?” he grunted, muscles straining to hold him in place, to keep him from attacking. Then, allowing his eyes to meet mine, “This is who I am.”

A moment later he was gone, and I was left staring at the blank space where he’d been curled into himself, fighting to remain more man than beast.

 _Rhys,_ I shouted, into that shared space between our minds.

Silence.

 _Rhysand!_ I tried again, blasting the word out as far as I could, unsure of the limits of this… _bond_ between us.

But there was only nothing… endless, infinite nothing.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my darling beta, [lauren](http://johnnyjaaqobis.tumblr.com). she's the midas of fanfic and i'm lucky to count her as a friend.

Days passed without a single message from him, and the silence of uncertainty was the most crushing weight I’d ever felt. Annoying as it had been when he’d first projected his voice into the recesses of my mind, I found myself longing for even a whisper—some indication that he was still… still…

I’d thought of simply letting my mental walls fade out of existence, but Rhys had mentioned in passing that other daemati—and creatures far worse—existed, and the idea of some stranger or demon being able to sift through my most private thoughts at will… Well, I decided it was worth the small bit of effort to maintain them.

The hedges towered over me as I took lazy steps through the gardens on the south side of the estate, the mid-morning sun casting long, boxy shadows along the flagstone path underneath my feet, over my pale pink gown, across the fountain at the end of the row. With a deep breath, I lowered my shields, just as I’d done twice since Rhys had… _appeared_ the other night.

 _Rhys… I need to know what happened._ I continued walking, keeping my face neutral in case one of the estate guards was watching me as Tamlin sometimes had them do. _I need you t_ —

“You need me?” he said smoothly, his unexpected intrusion causing me to startle.

“Where have you _been?_ ” I hissed, rounding on him.

“A safe distance away.” He adjusted the silver cufflinks at the ends of his sleeves, looking bored.

I was torn between slapping him and throwing my arms around his neck in relief, but I settled for narrowing my eyes until they were nothing more than slits. Then, nervously, I jerked my head from side to side, scanning for anyone who might be listening in on our conversation.

“We’re alone,” he said calmly, offering no explanation as to how he knew. Probably something to do with mind reading.

“What _happened_ to you the other night?” He may have been confident that we were alone, but shouting would likely change that and so I kept my voice low enough to not draw any unwanted attention.

“I was feeling a bit ill,” he said casually, dusting a nonexistent speck of dirt from his lapel. “Unfortunate you had to see me like that.”

“Ill? _Ill?_ ” I whispered harshly, taking a step towards him and checking around us for eavesdroppers—despite his earlier assurances. “Rhys, your _fingertips_ turned into _talons!_ ”

“Indeed they did.” I could’ve told him the temperature outside for all the reaction he gave.

_How is he so calm about this?_

_Because, unfortunately, it’s not the first time it’s happened._ His voice was like a warm, forgotten caress in my mind, gentle and honest. _Shields, darling._

I hauled them back up without flinching, digging my nails into the flesh of my palms.

“It’s a nasty side effect of my well running dry, I’m afraid,” he finished.

 _Well running dry._ That was a euphemism if I’d ever heard one, and suddenly I was reminded of our unique relationship, of why he continued to haunt me week after week after week.

I gulped. “And now you’re…” I didn’t know how to finish the thought.

“My stores have been replenished,” he said austerely.

He was death and cunning wrapped in a shroud of night, and I had to fight some deeply buried instinct— _shouting_ at me to get away from him as fast as my legs would carry me—but I managed to hold my ground.

“I’m glad you’re… feeling better,” I said, pushing down the building revulsion causing my gut to twist in knots.

Rhys took a step closer, which I matched by taking one back, keeping the distance between us constant. He had the good sense not to try stepping toward me again, though it looked like it pained him to stay put. “He was not a good person, Feyre,” he said plainly.

He worked his jaw, like the words tasted sour on his tongue.

I shook my head, confused. “What?”

“The man who… restored me.” He winced, briefly closing his eyes. Then, absent of doubt, “The world is better off without him.”

I grit my teeth, stunned by his boldness. “And who are you to make that call?”

The shadows flared around him, diving into the winter-bare hedges and curling around his forearms, and he took a calculated step towards me, watching to see if I would again retreat. I didn’t.

“Do you know what he asked of me?” Rhys said, whispers of darkness swirling all around him like ghosts of flames that had once burned fiercely when the world was young and the stars were new.

“No, and I don’t w—”

He took another step, slowly closing the distance between us. “He wanted my help luring young women into his—”

“Stop.” I recoiled, head turning to the side, not wanting to know the grim details of it all.

“—home so he could—”

“I’ve heard enough.” I focused on an evergreen far off in the distance, refusing to move even as Rhys continued to stalk closer.

“—cut into them like pigs ready for the slaughter—”

“You’ve made your point, Rhys.”

“—but not before he—”

“ _STOP!_ ” I shouted—out loud, across the bridge that connected our minds, into whatever soul he had left in his immortal body. Then, with my eyes still pressed tightly shut, “You’ve made your point. I don’t care to hear any more.”

Growing up I’d heard gruesome stories that started much the same way as his; stories about young women lured into vacant forests and dark corners of the world. They always ended the same way.

A savage wind tore at the ends of my hair and the edges of my gown, drowning out the sound of my uneven breaths.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes you did,” I said viciously, a frigid bite to the words.

He bowed his head, softening the darkness surrounding him, and I thought maybe this was what an apology from him looked like.

“But you’re right,” I continued, and he met my hardened gaze. “The world is better off without him.”

His eyes were a bright violet—brighter than I’d ever seen.

_Fresh._

He tilted his head toward the now-familiar path through the woods surrounding the estate, and I followed his cue, silken slippers not doing much to pad my feet as I stepped from the smooth flagstone onto the unmanicured trail.

Rhys… his darkness… it seemed to push on everything around us—the trees, the air, the sky. I could _feel_ the power ebbing and flowing out of him; a pulsing, silent drumbeat tethered to the core of the world itself—ancient and steady and _churning_.

“The other day…” I started, waiting for him to acknowledge me before continuing. He nodded, patient, and so I continued. “ _Why_ did you show up here like… that?”

Twigs and leaves and other dead things crunched underneath our feet. Winter was nearly over. One more hard freeze and then Prythian would be well on its way to spring… and I would be a bride.

A slumbering piece of me stirred, and I knew that I should’ve felt _more_ , should’ve felt _happier,_ but… I didn’t.

“I allowed myself to get… _lower_ than I should have,” he said slowly, and an unholy chill swept through me. “By the time I realized how bad I was, I’d lost some control over my abilities.”

I waited, trying to give him the time and space he needed to be honest with me.

“I thought of h—” He bit down on the word, clearing his throat. “Never mind what I thought of. I got distracted while winnowing, and I ended up in front of you instead of in my home in the Steppes like I’d intended.”

“You were so…”

“Rabid?” he supplied, perfectly describing his behavior. “Yes, that’s a bothersome side effect of starving myself.”

I scrunched my face up in confusion. “Starving yours—”

“I hope I didn’t scare you too badly,” he continued, gait even as he kept his pace beside me.

“No, I—” I slowed to a halt, thinking back to those panicked moments between when he’d appeared and vanished, remembering how I hadn’t bothered to consider my own safety even as he’d yelled at me to keep away.

A picture from it was still clear in my mind—the rigid, strained curve of his back; the sharp twitches of the muscles underneath his fine shirt; the hungry, wild desperation in his voice. Talons and smoke and death.

And I’d walked _toward_ him.

“I was just concerned. You were in pain and I didn’t know how to help you.”

He paused, angling his body to mine, face inscrutable. “You are an interesting woman, Feyre Archeron.”

My lips quirked upward at that, and I decided to push my luck. “I need to go pick some herbs near the stream that runs half-a-mile from here. Join me?”

It was much like a doe befriending a wolf, I realized—this choice I was making to voluntarily spend time with him. I wasn’t quite sure when I’d started to enjoy rather than fear his company, but it had happened. There was a steadfastness about him that I found comforting, despite the nature of our relationship, and I caught myself gravitating toward it more and more as the weeks dragged on. And today especially, I was glad to have him near me, glad to know he was alright.

“As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

“You’ll need to move a little quicker than that, Feyre darling,” he chided. “Unless you want to miss the show, that is.”

Rhys had let himself in— _again_ —and immediately launched into some poetic pitch about the brilliant colors the sky would be turning in only a few short hours. Truthfully, I would’ve left with him no matter where he wanted to take me. Without Tamlin and Lucien at the estate—off to meet with the King about the future of this Court as well as the neighboring ones—I was close to going out of my mind with boredom.

“You can’t just show up,” I mumbled, a hair tie pinched between my teeth as I braided, “and expect me to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

He grinned and held his hand up as if to pull something from the pocket realm he was so fond of using for storage. “Would it help you along if I—”

“ _No,_ ” I said harshly, glaring at him as I strode over to the armoire to select a change of clothing. Rhys had mentioned the spot we were headed to was a bit of a hike, meaning the velvet gown I was currently wearing simply wouldn’t do. I decided on a warm, tight-fitting pair of trousers and an equally-as-warm sweater, taking them with me as I disappeared behind the washroom doors.

“What’s so special about this… this—”

“Starfall,” he provided, raising his voice slightly to make sure I heard.

“Yes, that. What’s so special about _Starfall?_ ”

“Everyone should experience Starfall at least once in their lifetime,” he said fondly, unaware that he’d triggered a sinking feeling deep in my gut.

 _‘Once in their lifetime.’_ The words resonated in me, echoing in my chest like a death knell.

 _Perhaps this is his version of a final meal,_ I thought, but then I dismissed the idea altogether. If it was my heart he was after, this was an awfully tedious way to go about getting it.

“It only happens once every two hundred years, though,” he continued, oblivious to my dread, and I could hear him fiddling with pieces of jewelry—jewelry Tamlin had given me—littered across my vanity.

A pang of guilt traveled through me, but I ignored it. I had no reason to feel guilty about going to watch stars streak across the sky with a man—a _creature_ —whom I couldn’t even properly touch lest he turn into a glorified zombie.

 _So then why haven’t you told your fiancé about the trips Rhys has made to see you?_ a quiet, knowing piece of my soul asked.

I fastened the buttons on my trousers and brushed the thoughts aside, determined to enjoy the evening as I emerged from the bathroom dressed and ready for our trek, toffee-colored riding pants molded perfectly to my legs and the thick wool of my cream sweater already causing my neck to warm.

“Absolutely fetching,” he quipped, sweeping his eyes over me and holding his elbow out as if he meant to escort me to the location in question.

I jutted my chin towards his gesture. “What am I supposed to do with _that?_ ” We couldn’t touch, regardless of how many layers of clothing each of us wore. He knew that—was all too fond of reminding me of the restriction on the the half-dozen occasions I'd tried to swipe at him since I’d first tracked him down.

“Right.” He dropped his arm a heartbeat later, clearing his throat. “Let the record show,” he mused, turning his palm up and motioning to the door of my room, “that I tried to be chivalrous.”

I snorted, walking past him into the portrait-lined hallway, the gold-gilded crown moulding appearing to glow with the warm, orange-red of the setting sun’s last rays. “The record has been adjusted. Now show me this magical Starfall of yours.”

“As you wish,” he purred.

 

* * *

 

Slow-going though it was, the hike hadn’t been quite as bad as I’d expected. Rhys had used his abilities to bend the underbrush away from where we needed to step, though he didn’t—or perhaps _couldn’t_ —do anything about the patches of ice and sludge scattered across the forest floor.

We were partway through an open field when, suddenly, he came to a halt—so abruptly that I nearly bumped into him. “We’re here,” he said absentmindedly, pulling a quilt from thin air. The orb of light he’d summoned at the beginning of our trek dimmed but stayed hovering just above our heads, and I couldn’t help but notice the way the shadows played on the planes of his face, catching on the hard edges and caressing the space just underneath his jaw.

He laid the blanket out and took a seat, stretching his legs in front of him and patting the empty spot to his right.

I rolled my eyes but joined him, sinking down without a noise.

It was warmer than I’d expected it to be—the cloth Rhys had put down to shield us from the snowy grass. Without warning, he extinguished the light and reclined fully, fixing his gaze on the star-freckled sky above us.

Again, I followed his lead, shifting a bit to get comfortable but eventually settling in.

There was a calmness this far into the woods, a quiet that was never quite achieved closer to the towns, not even in the dead of night when most were asleep. People had an energy about them, a restless quality that I could feel no matter how tranquil they appeared.

The moon was absent, leaving only the distant glow of the stars to illuminate the world, and I could just barely make out the faint line where trees became sky. It made me feel small—to be surrounded by such a vast ocean of night, Rhysand’s own power amplifying the heavy feeling in the air, like a thick blanket had been spread over the world.

Growing up, I’d spent many sleepless hours staring out the mildewed window at the foot of my bed, wondering if the world was truly as cruel and unforgiving as I thought it to be. It wasn’t until Tamlin had noticed me—flanked by his emissary as he’d walked among his people, proud and gentle and sincere toward everyone who’d been bold enough to step forward as he passed—that I’d changed my mind about the fates, about the gods and their eternal games. If someone like _him_ had seen me in a crowd full of prospects far more beautiful and cultured than I, perhaps the gods weren’t as merciless as I’d given them credit for, and perhaps I wasn’t nearly as small as I felt now.

Animals stirred nearby, treading softly just inside the tree line, hooves against earth, grunting and panting and huffing as they went about their lives. I hadn’t realized the world could be so… still.

Minutes passed, stars fading in and out of sight, of existence—blinking beacons fixed in a blackened sea, unfathomably deep and infinite—but there was nothing special, that I could tell, about what was happening. _Starfall_ , he’d called it. Surely this wasn’t the climax of the event. The way he’d spoken of it, he’d made it sound like I would experience a spiritual awakening from observing these things hurtle across the sky… and yet there was nothing out of the ordinary.

“ _This_ is what you dragged me to the middle of an ice-covered meadow for?” I whispered, tilting my head so I could see him, and I was suddenly very aware of how close the two of us were. The blanket had seemed so large when he’d spread it out, but now there was hardly half-a-meter between our bodies.

_It would be so easy to reach out and touch him…_

Without moving, he slid his eyes to meet mine, and even in the devouring darkness their color showed through. “Patience, darling. It’ll begin any moment now.”

Staring blankly at the empty heavens, I rolled my head back to center and began slowly, silently counting. One-hundred seconds—or whatever measure of time I was managing to keep track of—passed without so much as a sound save the wind curling around whatever bits of nature remained upright. “Are you sure it’s happening _tonight?_ I—”

My words were cut off by a streak of frosty blue light high above, gone in the blink of an eye.

“There,” he breathed, pointing, but I’d already seen it. “I told you it wouldn’t be long.” I could hear the smile in his voice, the one I knew I’d see if I dared to look.

All at once, hundreds of bright arcs lit up the earth—falling, falling, falling toward the horizon, swallowed up by the jagged tree line. I’d never seen anything like it—yellow and orange, white and blue; stars that had forsaken their homes to tumble infinitely, together, until the gods saw fit to catch them.

I didn’t notice that I’d sat up until Rhys spoke. “This,” he breathed, tone reverent and brimming with awe, “is Starfall.”

I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the celestial rain high above us, each new stripe across the sky painting the most beautiful view I’d ever seen, but I heard Rhys as he rustled on the quilt next to me. When I turned, he’d propped himself on his elbows, and the tilt of his head… a reflection of the scene high above us was captured against a canvas of bright, pure violet.

In the weeks since we’d first met, I’d forgotten how striking he was—the angles of his cheeks, the strength of his shoulders, the intensity of his eyes…

“It’s rude to stare.” He slowly let his gaze drift toward mine—as if he didn’t, even for one second, want to miss the show—and a teasing grin tugged on one corner of his mouth.

“I wasn’t—”

His grin widened.

“Never mind.”

I turned my attention back up to the sky, pulling my knees close to my chest as a shiver spread through my limbs. The blanket itself was warm but the air was still near freezing, perhaps even colder.

In my peripheral I saw a flash of blue, and then Rhys was offering me a steaming mug of what smelled like tea. I took it from him, grateful for the warmth that flowed into my hands and up my arms.

I blew on the liquid to cool it slightly. “Does it cost you?” I asked, taking a sip. It was definitely tea—jasmine, if I wasn’t mistaken. “When you do… _that?_ ”

He looked back up at the turbulent sky before answering, softly, “Magic always costs something.”

“But does it… will you…” The question seemed too vulgar—too personal to ask, so I simply trailed off and hoped he caught my meaning.

“No,” he said gently, looking to me again as he spoke, “this will not drain me in the same way touching you would.”

He’d never really explained the mechanics of his abilities, and I’d been too overwhelmed to question how it all worked. Rhys had initially told me that any contact—no matter how minor—between him and a human would drain him. When I’d first found Rhys, I’d needed him to heal Tamlin, so I didn’t ever push him about _why_. Knowing the limit existed and where it was had been enough… at the time.

“What does it feel like… when you touch a human?”

His lips quirked to the side, so briefly I almost missed it. “So many questions tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” I clutched the mug of tea tighter, casting my gaze downward. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s… it’s alright.”

I dragged my eyes back up to his, and, to my surprise, I saw something like wonder reflected back at me.

“It’s just… no one’s ever asked me that before.”

 _Nine hundred years,_ I suddenly remembered. He’d been alive longer than most of the trees ringing the meadow had been standing, longer than even the Wall had existed—perhaps longer than even some of the stars flying by overhead.

How long had he spent living a world apart? How many years, decades, _centuries_ had he exiled himself from the rest of humanity lest his powers accidentally get activated? How long had it been since he’d had someone to talk to?

_How long has he been alone?_

“I guess it feels a bit like plunging into a river in the dead of winter,” he continued. “There’s a moment of panic, where I’m sure that I won’t be able to breathe, but it passes almost instantly, and then I can feel the energy escaping. My task is to give it purpose, to mold it into whatever’s needed—to heal, to destroy, to transform.”

I took another sip of the tea, holding the mug close to my face so the steam would warm my nose and cheeks. “How does that work exactly?”

“I concentrate on the outcome I want to see, and the magic does the rest,” he said simply. “It’s much more… _comfortable_ for me if it’s skin-to-skin, but it can and does happen regardless.”

“And afterward?” It was surprisingly easy, talking to him about his… _talents_.

“Afterward…” His features hardened slightly. “Afterward it’s just numbness—numbness that’s slowly and steadily replaced by a demanding, relentless hunger.” He looked away—at the trees, at the sky, at the blanket.

“Is it painful?” I took another sip. “The hunger, I mean.”

“It can be. If I don’t…” he paused, searching for the right word, “ _satisfy_ the craving quickly enough.”

An image of him the day he’d healed Tamlin—sallow-skinned and dull-eyed—surfaced in my mind. He’d felt this hunger he spoke of then, I was sure of it. But he hadn’t acted on it. And the other day he’d mentioned starving himself. None of it made sense; why he would willingly put himself through that type of torment—for what?

“Rhys—”

“Legend has it,” he said, lifting his brows and adjusting his gaze upward, “those are spirits.”

“Spirits?” I asked, following his eyeline.

“When I was growing up, my mother would tell me stories about them.” He smiled, a small and fleeting tic of his facial muscles, and I couldn’t help but mirror the expression. “She said they were the souls of those who’d sacrificed themselves for love.

“As she told it, the gods couldn’t bear the cruel hand fate had dealt, so they lifted these souls from purgatory and placed them high in the heavens, giving them the chance to watch their loves live out the rest of their days.”

“But…” I looked from his face to the sky, then back again. “They’re falling.”

His lips turned upward, sadly… knowingly. “The gods may have granted them a place among the stars, but what these souls most desire… is to be back with the ones for whom they gave up their mortal life. So, after their love has drawn their final breath, they fall—to reunite with them in the life after this one.”

“So they die twice? That’s awful.”

He shut his eyes and huffed out a breath, softly—like he’d once, many lifetimes ago, believed the same thing. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“And what’s the other?”

He feathered his jaw, holding my gaze for a long moment before he answered. “Even death cannot stop true love.”

A piece of himself, honest and without shame, laid bare before me—to judge, to mock, to question. But the intensity of his stare, of his words, was too much. I found myself looking away, back to the waves of starlight miles and miles above.

 _Spirits,_ he’d said. I could believe that. I would _choose_ to believe that.

Minutes passed, with nothing but the light above and the tame wind rustling through the trees, through my loosely braided hair, but Rhys eventually said, “Shall we get you home now?”

“No—” I protested, much too quickly. Then, once I’d regained control of my voice, “No… I’d… I’d like to stay until the end.”

He looked at me curiously—a puzzle he could never quite solve. “Starfall will last until just before dawn.”

I considered my response carefully before giving it, knowing the choice I was making, the message I was sending. “I’m not tired.”

There was that smile again—the soft one I once hadn’t thought him capable of showing, the gentle curve that reminded me he’d once been human, the faint echo of a past before he’d only known pain and isolation. “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

“Good morning, dearest.”

I startled, pressing a palm against my abdomen to calm my racing heart. “Tamlin,” I said, breathless. “I didn’t realize you were back.”

I tilted my head to catch a glimpse of him leaning against the doorjamb of my quarters, fresh-faced and wearing clothes he reserved for days spent on the estate grounds, when he was able to be himself instead of a Lord.

“Lucien and I arrived around midnight,” he said easily, but there was an underlying tension connecting the words.

Panic flooded my consciousness.

He knew. He knew I’d been out last night. He would’ve come to my room upon returning to the estate, meaning the chances of him being unaware of my unscheduled outing were slim to none.

“Oh?” I asked innocently, deftly avoiding his gaze, returning to my earlier task of straightening the jewelry on my vanity Rhys had fiddled with the night before. “And did you have a good trip? Was the King receptive to your ideas?”

He took a couple of steps into the room. “Where were you last night?” His tone was soft, but there was an accusation lurking just underneath the surface, a snare set for unassuming prey. _“Why weren’t you here last night?”_ is what it sounded like.

“I…” had nothing to be ashamed of… but a part of me knew Tamlin would react harshly to learning the truth. Still facing away from him, I finished my explanation. “I noticed the sky so I went for a walk. I didn’t make it back until nearly dawn.” A warmth spread through me at the memory, my hands stilling as a gentle smile spread across my face.

He took another step toward me, keeping his voice level as he said, “Alone?”

I placed the last of the necklaces back in its protective box. “I can handle myself, Tamlin,” I said with a laugh, trying to lighten the suddenly tense conversation.

I’d tracked down Rhys—a fabled demon of old, though the rumors about him being able to spit venom had been slightly exaggerated—all those weeks ago, and before that I’d needed to fend for myself on more than one occasion. Even if I _had_ been alone, I knew how to get out of a bad situation.

“It’s not safe for you to be walking by yourself, least of all at night.”

I turned to ask why he sounded so concerned, but the near feral look about him caught me off guard. “I was never in any danger,” I soothed, delivering the line with a practiced softness I often used to put him at ease when the world was weighing on him too heavily.

He grit his teeth. “How do you know that?”

I took a tentative step toward him. “I suppose I don—”

“And what if someone had wanted to hurt you?”

I paused at the interruption, but made it the rest of the way to where he was standing, running my hands up and down the muscles of his arms reassuringly. “No one tried to—”

“That’s not the point!” he shouted, and I yanked my hands away as if they’d touched flame.

I took a step back, stunned by his outburst. “Tamlin…”

“I’m sorry.” He let out an exasperated sigh, hand scrubbing over his face. “I didn’t… The trip to see King Hybern didn’t go as I’d hoped. I’m a little… raw still. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s… okay,” I said skeptically, still not quite believing the sharpness I’d heard in his words—words that had been directed at _me_ just moments ago.

He took a deep breath, reaching for me, and, tentatively, I gave him my hands. “Just… promise me that if you decide to go on any more walks that you’ll take someone with you.”

There was an earnestness in his gaze, and I felt a lead weight settle in my stomach. “Am I in danger?”

“No, no,” he said, but it was a hollow reassurance. He wasn’t telling me something, I could _feel_ it. “I just… I don’t think I could bear it if something happened to you. It’s a precaution, dearest, nothing more.” He brought my hands up, brushing his lips against the backs of them. “So… will you take someone with you from now on?”

I turned over the idea of protesting his request, just to see if I could get him to tell me what had him so nervous all of the sudden. But after the way he’d just reacted…

“I won’t leave the estate by myself.” I swallowed down the discomfort prickling along my spine, down my arms, in the places where his hands held mine. “I promise.”

Relief washed over him, chasing away the protective anger he’d unintentionally put on display. “Good.” Then, sliding an arm around my waist and pressing a quick kiss to my temple, “Enough of that—tell me about your week. What did you do to fill your time while I was away?”

I forced a smile on my face and launched into a review of the book I’d been reading, letting him guide me out of the room. As we walked, I tried not to think about how the tighter he pressed me to his side, the more I felt like a prisoner being escorted to a new cell.

 

* * *

 

I ran my gloved hand over the top of the rough, hip high stone wall that bordered the estate. I’d agreed to take an escort with me if I wanted to leave the grounds, so technically what I was doing didn’t count as breaking that promise—not quite.

Tamlin had decided to go out on a hunting trip early this morning—a favorite indulgence of his, a way to release some of the stress he always seemed to carry—taking Lucien and the rest of his guards with him when he’d left. I thought I’d missed him when he’d been away visiting King Hybern the previous week, but now that he was back…

I needed fresh air. And I needed to be alone.

Besides, the grounds were well-protected and I’d even slung a dagger around my waist for good measure before leaving the house. Not to mention that it was common knowledge this territory belonged to the sitting Lord of the Spring Court. Only a fool would be dumb enough to trespass.

I heard the distinctive crunch of dead, dried leaves underneath a boot—and when I whipped my head to see which one of the estate guards had tracked me down, I instead saw the silhouette of a caped figure that had clearly never been in Tamlin’s employ.

I quickened my pace, mentally plotting the quickest route back to the house, which, I now realized, was probably a mile-and-a-half away.

Ahead of me, two more men appeared, bearing the same hooded, dark brown capes as the one behind me.

I slowed to a halt, trying to determine my chances if I were to just bolt to the side, hand curling around the hilt of my blade. If I was quick, I might have a chance to maim one of them—perhaps even two.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here all by herself?” the one behind me taunted, voice gravelly and meant to intimidate.

I turned to face the wall, keeping all three of them in my field of vision as I took deliberate steps backward. “My fiancé is the Lord of this estate,” I said clearly, unsheathing my dagger and holding my chin high. “You’d do well to walk away before you get yourselves in trouble.”

“Sweetheart”—his voice was grime and rot and grease—“we came looking for trouble.”

My skin went cold and all the breath fled from my lungs, the knife in my hand feeling too heavy and too useless against such giants. Still, I gripped the leather-wrapped pommel tighter and readied myself for a fight I’d likely lose. I opened my mouth to scream—to call for aid—but all that came out was a harsh gust of air.

The three of them smiled like vipers who’d cornered a mouse.

“H-Help!” I finally managed, voice still weak—too weak to be heard by anyone capable of actually reaching me in time. I tried again, louder and with more force—“Someone help!”

I dug my feet into the cold ground and pushed, intending to run or stab or _fight_ , but the two men to my left had their hands wrapped around my arms before I could even take a single step. Mid-scream, a cloth was pressed tight to my mouth, muffling my cries, extinguishing any hope that someone— _anyone_ —would find me before they’d carted me off.

A hand squeezed my wrist, painfully, until my muscles betrayed me and the knife landed on the dried grass with a dull _thud_.

“Things will be much more pleasant for you,” the first man warned, “if you choose to cooperate.”

Now that he was close, I could see the dirty green color of his eyes and the long scar running from his temple to mid-way down his neck. His freckles stopped shy of the smooth, pink track of ruined flesh.

Heart hammering in my chest, I stomped on his foot, determined to show him that I’d be doing no such thing. If it was a pliant victim he wanted, he’d chosen the wrong person.

His hand immediately shot up to capture my jaw, roughly, painfully. “None of that, girl,” he growled, lip pulling back in a sneer.

I did the only thing I could think, shattering the wall around my mind and _praying_ he would hear me.

_Rhys!_


	4. Part IV

_“Let go of me!”_ I wanted to scream, but an unforgiving pressure was keeping the foul-smelling rag flush against my mouth. It smelled of sweat and grease and was nearly enough to make me retch.

The leader barked orders in a language I didn’t understand, and the two men buising my arms with the force of their grip nodded sharply.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” His voice was calm; measured; predatory in a way that only I would notice—and the best sound I’d ever heard. “Could one of you point me in the direction of the local medical center?”

Relief barreled through me, and when the men holding me jerked to get a look at the unexpected intruder, I noticed that Rhys looked… normal. The ever-present tendrils of darkness that hung around him—like fog on a lake in the early morning—were nowhere to be seen. The only indication that he was something _more_ than human was the brilliant violet hue of his eyes.

“Ask someone else,” the leader grumbled, dismissing Rhys without understanding he’d already lost. “We’re busy.”

“Where the hell did _he_ come from?” the one gripping my right arm muttered, tongue heavy with an accent, loud enough so only myself and the man holding my other arm heard. His friend shrugged his shoulders but otherwise stayed still.

The quiet snuck up on me; the hollow, eerie melody that had so recently replaced the bird songs and rustling leaves. Judging from the way the men at my sides were turning their heads, it appeared as if they, too, had noticed the sudden, forced calm.

“Oh, now that’s _very_ interesting”—Rhys continued taking smooth steps toward us. “I wonder how the Lord of the Spring Court would react if he knew the King had sent you to abduct his fiancée.”

The one in charge turned at that, confusion in his voice. “How the—”

“ _That_ , young man”—Rhys stared pointedly at the smallest one of the bunch, the one on my left—“is a very naughty thought.”

The blond-haired boy subject to Rhys’s focus had the good sense to look unnerved.

Shifting slightly, the bearded man holding my other arm looked between Rhys and his friend. “What on—”

“Piss off,” the one with the scar seethed. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“See, that’s where we disagree.” Rhys positioned himself to where I could see his eyes, brutal in their intensity but somehow soft. “Feyre darling, are you alright?”

I was able to nod once before the man with blond hair pushed the rag tighter to my jaw, stopping the movement.

“For the last time,” the green-eyed leader of the bunch grit, “get out of here.”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Rhys said tenderly, looking only at me.

Enraged, the leader took steps toward Rhys. “I said get lost!”

“Shut your eyes, darling.”

It wasn’t a command but a plea, and instantly I understood his intentions. I could only imagine what fate awaited the men if I were to close my eyes, and part of me wondered what Rhys would do if I refused. Would they still be made to suffer? Would Rhys truly let me watch as he tore the limbs from their bodies or drove them mad with their own worst fears or did _whatever_ it was he planned on doing?

But his eyes were earnest and I couldn’t refuse him his request—not when he’d shown up the moment I’d called for him. And not when the man with the scar was so quickly turning the point of his blade toward Rhys’s throat.

Reluctantly, I let my eyes drift closed, and a vacuous quiet expanded into the space around us. The men gripping my arms loosened their hold, breaths turing ragged, terrified by whatever they saw. A sound like thunder cracked through the air, and, in unison the men began to scream; a shrill, pained sound that resonated deep within my bones.

The two flanking me yanked their hands back, dropping that disgusting cloth and jostling me a bit in the process, and then—

Nothing.

A high-pitched whistling replaced their screams, an echo on the wind of the inhuman sounds drawn from the men who’d meant to do me harm. Shaky breaths cut through the stifling silence as my blood roared in my ears, and a small, horrified piece of me hoped their shrieking would return.

Birds in the nearby trees resumed their songs, and I heard the scrape of tiny claws skittering along dried bark. Nervously, I fluttered my eyes open—prepared to see any number of gruesome scenes, but… there was nothing. I was once again alone, bracketed by the estate wall on one side and a looming forest ten meters away on the other.

Trembling, I slumped against the stones, sinking down until I was able to rest my head against my knees.

It was as if my body had been holding back the fear until a less inconvenient time, like it knew that falling apart would’ve almost certainly ensured my capture. Weak breaths filled my lungs, each exhale producing a noticeable puff just ahead in the chilled air.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I heard the footsteps, but my eyes snapped up instantly.

_Rhys._

Not a hair was out of place, and that ominous darkness was once again rolling off him, pooling around his feet. His sleeves were cuffed and the top buttons of his fine black shirt were undone, like he’d recently finished some chore or another. He said nothing as he dropped down next to me, forearms braced against his knees and his head leaned back against the wall.

He wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t meet my pleading gaze.

“What did you do to them?” I whispered, voice wavering.

The muscles in his jaw worked and worked, pressing his teeth together. “They won’t be bothering you again,” he finally said, voice heavy; speaking with a confidence that left little room for doubt about what fate had befallen the men.

“Did you…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the thought. “Are they…”

The wind sighed softly around us, tickling the branches of the evergreens in the distance.

“Two of them will recover.” He rolled his head to the side, and when his eyes met mine I saw a quiet desperation hidden in his stare, like he was begging me to understand—and not press him for further details; not ask him to recount the specifics of what he’d done to make them scream so loud and so long.

I gulped. “And the third?”

He turned away from me, looking at a non-distinct point somewhere in the tree line ahead of us.

Judging from the burst of power he’d unleashed on the men, he should’ve been looking like a wraith—but his skin was a deep, smooth tan and his eyes were bright and clear. And from what I knew about Rhys, that could only mean one thing…

“I think,” I said distantly, “I’d like to be alone now.”

Rhys slid his eyes to mine, and I almost couldn’t bear what I saw reflected back at me. He’d called himself a monster once, and perhaps it had been a true label at one point, but not now.

Carefully, I opened a sliver in my mental shield, to let him _feel_ all the things I couldn’t say. Gratitude that he’d come for me; relief that the men hadn’t been granted the opportunity to spirit me away; regret that those men had suffered because of my choice to call for him; guilt that he’d expended himself to protect me, forcing him to… to…

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, gentle and sure.

I gulped, sealing up my shield once more, and looked away, unable to stare at the crisp, pure violet of his eyes any longer.

He was quiet for a long moment, unmoving, and I thought that, maybe, he would force me to ask again. Based on how he’d reacted the first time—the hurt I’d seen behind his eyes—I didn’t know if I could.

But then Rhys folded his hands and, with a resigned sorrow, whispered, “As you wish.”

It was only after he winnowed away that I realized solitude hadn’t been what I truly wanted.

 

* * *

 

Tamlin found me in the wide hallway connecting the South Wing to the center of the estate. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the walls, a view of the garden out one side and a view of the forest on the other, and the late-morning sun warmed the tile floor, casting a soft golden glow over the space.

I turned to greet him, preparing to hear that he’d been called away again when he carefully reached for my hand. I gave it to him without question and coaxed a smile onto my face.

“I know I’ve been absent recently,” he said regretfully, bringing my hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it, “but I want to make it up to you.” Slowly, deliberately, he snaked both arms around my waist, urging me closer.

Tamlin’s words caught me off guard. I’d been expecting to learn the number of days I’d once again be left alone, but the conversation had taken on an entirely different tone—and I was pleasantly surprised to feel the fragile blossom of hope begin to bloom once more.

“Oh?” I ran my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, settling them around his neck.

He drew me flush, kissing my temple and whispering against the skin there, “I miss spending time with you.”

Relief flooded through me, and the smile I’d been holding back stretched across my face. “I miss spending time with you, too.”

“I’m glad to hear that because”—he pulled back, thumbs rubbing small circles into my bodice—”I’ve planned something for us the day after tomorrow.”

“Really?” I said, hopeful and _happy_ in a way I hadn’t been for weeks now.

His lips quirked to the side, pleased with my reaction. “Really.”

Ever since he’d been healed, it seemed like Tamlin was away more days than he was home. When he’d first courted me, he postponed meetings and delayed trips—even as Lucien sputtered and cautioned about the message such deferment would send. He’d chosen me though; nearly every time.

Light from outside reflected in his green eyes, the hidden flecks of copper standing out more than usual, and, for the first time in months, I saw a reflection of the man I’d fallen in love with, the man I’d agreed to marry.

I swept my thumb back and forth across the nape of his neck, savoring this stolen closeness we hadn’t been permitted for the past several days, wondering how long it would last…

“May I ask what we’ll be doing?” I ran curious fingers down the buttons of his shirt, hooking one below the waistband of his trousers.

He groaned. “That would ruin the surprise, dear.”

Tamlin let his hands fall lower on my waist, and I longed to feel the heat of his palms on my bare skin. We hadn’t been together in _days…_

I tried to pout but my smile overshadowed the expression.

“However”—he dipped his head, lips pressing into the base of my throat—“I’d be more than happy to _show_ you a couple of things I have in mind.”

“Mmm, are you sure?” I tilted my neck back, yielding to his touch. “I’d hate for you to spoil the big secret.”

He squeezed my hip and nipped at the edge of my jaw, pushing our bodies closer together. The metal of his belt was cold against my fingertips as I tried to work the leather free of the buckle, sighing when he found the spot below my ear that always sent a shiver straight to my toes.

Someone cleared their throat and I hurriedly pushed myself away from Tamlin, smoothing my dress and hair as if that would hide the evidence of what we’d just been caught doing.

Tamlin, for his part, had barely reacted at all to the intrusion, save the look of annoyance on his face.

He pulled me back to his side and used his free hand to beckon his emissary to speak. “What is it, Lucien?”

“Sorry to interrupt”—he bowed his head—”but there’s an urgent matter that needs your attention.”

Tamlin feathered his jaw but nodded. Lucien dismissed himself without another word, heading back toward the West Wing of the estate—where Tamlin conducted all his formal business.

He sighed, turning me back to him before resting his forehead against mine. “Two days, dearest. Then you’ll have me all to yourself.”

I refused to let my frustration stain the moment, not when I knew what such a promise meant. “I’m already counting down the hours.”

“Now…” his hands smoothed down my sides, over my hips, gripping the flesh hidden under layers and layers of my winter gown—”about where we’re having to leave things…”

Tamlin pressed his lips to mine, urgent and slow and enough to make me moan.

“I’ll be in my room whenever you’re done,” I managed, running a hand over the front of his trousers and delighting in the response he gave. “And if you hurry, I might even consider putting on that blue number you bought me last month.”

He groaned, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “You’ll be the death of me.”

I tilted my head so my lips were hovering just above his ear. “Quickly now,” I whispered. “You’re wasting time.”

Tamlin lifted his head, bringing a palm up to my cheek. “Count slowly,” he pleaded, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips before backing away.

I let him get halfway down the hall before the desire to tease him won out. “One… two… three…”

He adjusted his pace to a jog just before he rounded the corner, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

 

* * *

 

“You seem upset, Feyre darling. Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” I grit, unintentionally stomping to balance myself when my shoe slipped over an ice-covered root.

I’d been shorter with him than usual during our walk, meeting each attempt at conversation with an unkind remark. Tamlin had been summoned to the Winter Court late last night, so he and Lucien had immediately packed and left before dawn even broke.

It stung, this particular trip. Tamlin had promised me a quiet day, had said that he wanted to atone for all his absences as of late. There had been regret in his eyes when he’d told me he _had_ to go, when he’d grit his teeth because he’d known leaving sent the message he was choosing his Court over me. I’d kissed him anyway and wished him luck, grinding my teeth until they’d hurt but holding my tongue because lashing out wouldn’t change his obligations.

I’d been so overjoyed at the prospect of _finally_ getting to spend time with him that I’d let hope burrow deep in my chest. And this broken promise, though it was no fault of his own, had fractured me right down the middle.

Half an hour ago, Rhys had shown up and I’d taken him up on his offer for a stroll without a second thought, needing to get some fresh air, to stretch my legs and work off some of the burbling anger.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, voice light but stern.

I rolled my eyes but took the bait anyway. “Does _what_ bother me?”

“Always getting left behind like this…” He slid his eyes to mine, interested to see how I would react to what he said next, shadows winding like vines down his arm. “As though you were some pet.”

“I’m not a pet.” My voice was even—carefully so, since I knew he was cataloguing each tic in my expression, each inflection in my response.

“I should hope not.” His face was hard, unforgiving—but the sincerity in the words nearly caused me to wince.

Fragments of life were starting to reappear in the forest; bits of green and yellow and blue that had been chased away by the frost. A few months ago, I had wanted nothing more than for Spring to arrive so that Tamlin and I could _finally_ be wed, but now…

I shook my head, both to clear my mind and as a reaction to his earlier assessment. “And he’s not _leaving me behind_.”

Even _I_ barely believed the words. Tamlin had always maintained that I couldn’t go on diplomatic visits because he frequently discussed classified intelligence with other leaders of the realms—sometimes with even King Hybern himself. My presence would only complicate things—get in the way of drafting treaties or securing trade deals or negotiating fair doctrines.

“I’m _choosing_ to stay,” I said a bit more forcefully, and I wasn’t sure which one of us I was trying to convince.

His shadows played in the silent breeze that whipped around us, dissolving into nothing as they stretched farther and farther away from their master. “Are you sure about that?” His voice was soft, forceful, and I could feel his eyes on me even though I refused to meet his stare.

The birds were becoming more and more active as the snow drifts thawed, their songs once again filling the forest with music, but, even with all their chirping, I felt a silence creep along my bones, reminding me that I was isolated.

His words had sliced through me, and I thought that if I dared look at him, I’d be admitting that he was right—about Tamlin, about me, about all of it. And I wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Harshly, I set my jaw and ground my teeth. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

A blue aura enveloped the heap of dead branches up ahead obstructing the path, and a moment later they transformed into ash. “Just that you seem quite… _agitated_.”

“I’m not agitated,” I snapped, stopping in my tracks and realizing the slip as soon as I’d made it.

Rhys raised his eyebrows and considered me carefully. “Clearly.”

I glared at him, keeping my jaw set for as long as I could before I deflated, sighing.

A dried twig melted into the soft earth under the press of my foot as I started forward again. My slippers would be ruined by the time we made it back to the garden, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I had dozens of pairs of shoes now, and Tamlin would likely buy me another to replace these once the housekeepers told him I’d stained them beyond repair.

“It’s better if I don’t go—since we’re not yet married.” Something prickled along my neck. It felt… odd to discuss my relationship like this. Rhys and I talked about a great number of things, but Tamlin was very rarely one of them. “The other Lords don’t trust me since I’m not yet officially Lady of the Spring Court, so I’d only be waiting around in empty rooms or making small talk with people who cared nothing about me.”

Rhys was deathly quiet, his shadows rustling the damp leaves as we walked, scattering them. “Interesting.”

“What could _possibly_ be interesting about anything I just said?” I huffed, dropping down onto the broad, toppled tree trunk just off the beaten path. For several dozen meters I’d felt a sharp pricking on the underside of my foot—a rock, a twig, _something_ that kept cutting into my arch with each step—and I was determined to remove it from my shoe.

Rhys sunk down next to me, back straight but head tilted. “Simply that you’ve rationalized Tamlin’s choice to not include you in Court proceedings—something in which you’re poised to be intimately involved.”

I froze. “I didn’t—I’m not—”

Tamlin was Lord. Running the Court fell to him, and, though I was soon to be his wife, that didn’t change the fact that he would still make the decisions for his people. I’d fallen in love with the man, not the Lord, and I had no desire to be involved in the types of big decisions that plagued my fiancé’s days—and sometimes nights.

“Can we talk about something else?” I muttered, shoving my shoe back on and standing abruptly.

He straightened his legs slowly, extending an arm and subtly bowing to let me step ahead of him. “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

“Good morning, Feyre darling,” he greeted warmly, lurking in the doorway of the sitting room, that now familiar darkness rolling off him in foggy waves.

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of his voice. Tamlin and Lucien had left on a hunt an hour-or-so ago, and all the house staff were busy readying the outside of the estate for the spring holidays and a fast-approaching wedding, having already finished the interior decorating.

“We have _got_ to get better locks around this place,” I grumbled, picking up my overcoat from where I’d draped it across the settee.

He chuckled. “I’m not sure that would correct the issue you’re looking to fix.”

“It might,” I said dryly, continuing to gather bits of outerwear and accessories I’d need for the trip into town.

“Ready to give up your heart?” He sounded entirely too casual given the topic of conversation.

I made a regretful noise, shaking my head. “Today’s really not a good day, Rhys.”

“What? Why not?” he pressed, pushing himself off the doorjamb and taking a step towards me, his darkness flaring out behind him.

“Apart from the obvious,” I huffed, grabbing for a glove, “I promised one of the orphanages in town that I’d help prepare meals today. They really need the extra pair of hands this time of year.”

“That’s… noble of you,” he muttered. Then, roguishly, “I’ll come along. We can do the heart thing afterward.”

The thought of spending the day—the whole day, not just an hour—with him made something lurch in my chest. Terror? Excitement? His threat of claiming my heart had turned into something of an old wive’s tale at this point. There was some truth to it, of course, but presently I wasn’t in any danger… at least I didn’t _feel_ like I was.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “And spend your day around dozens of humans who could touch you without warning?”

“Fair point,” he conceded, stalking around the room and running his fingers along the wood-trim of the furniture. “Is there some way I could help speed your plans along?”

I wrapped a maroon scarf around my neck, pulling my hair free. “Afraid not.”

“Well then,” he said resolutely, stepping into my path. “You’ve left me no choice.”

I froze, thinking that, finally, he was going to demand his payment. Half-formed thoughts of what he’d likely done to the three men who’d tried to kidnap me rushed to the forefront of my mind, and my blood ran cold.

He leaned in, close enough that I could feel his breath rustle the strands of hair hanging over my ear. “I’ll be back in the morning for your heart.”

No sooner had he breathed the words than he straightened himself, turning away from me.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping my coat a little tighter as he walked toward the door.

“Oh, and Feyre,” he mused, pausing to give my outfit a once-over with his eyes. “You look absolutely delicious in that color.”

And with that he was gone, nothing more than a puff of smoke left in the spot where he’d been standing moments before. I’d seen him vanish that way several times now, but it was still unnerving for some reason; for him to be there and then… _not._

 _You’re intolerable!_ I shouted, having deliberately lowered the wall I now permanently kept around my mind with little conscious effort.

 _It’s part of my charm,_ he returned, unmistakable laughter echoing after the words.

 _Keep comments like that to yourself from now on._ I couldn’t tell whether he’d meant to genuinely compliment me or simply remind me that I was, quite literally, his food, but, either way, the effect was a shiver running down my arms.

Everything was quiet, and I thought he might’ve cut me off until—

_As you wish._

 

* * *

 

“Dearest,” Tamlin boomed, arms outstretched, striding toward me, boots clicking on the polished marble floors as his body cast long shadows across the light-filled, window-lined hallway. “How was your day?”

Lucien dismissed the guards that had been flanking Tamlin before bowing to his Lord’s turned back and excusing himself. We’d never talked _much_ , but since Tamlin had been healed, Lucien spoke to me even less than he had before. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had a conversation. I made a mental note to seek him out later.

Taking his hands in mine, I draped one of Tamlin’s arms across my shoulders as I tucked myself against his side, looping my free arm around his waist. “Rewarding,” I beamed.

“Oh?” He pressed a quick kiss to my temple and continued forward at a much slower pace, my steps matching his. “Do tell.”

“Well,” I started, leaning my head against his shoulder, “a week ago one of the orphanages in town reached out to me, and—”

“I can’t believe”—Tamlin stopped us walking—“I ever found someone like you. How did I get so lucky?”

I tilted my head back so I could see him, and the love in his stare was enough to make me smile, too. It was easy to remember why I agreed to marry him in moments like this—moments when he was so soft and gentle, those sharp edges that had been honed from years of service to his Court nowhere to be found.

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, kissing my temple. “I interrupted your story,” he murmured. “Forgive me.”

“I—um…” Following his lead, I began taking steps forward again. “I spent my day helping them prepare meals and feeding the children living there. Oh, you should’ve seen them, Tam. They were so—”

“You went into town?” His tone fluctuated. 

“Well… yes.” I couldn’t quite place the feeling welling up in my chest, but something about it made me uneasy.

He slowed to a halt, turning me to face him, a thin smile on his face. “I thought I made it clear that it wasn’t safe for you to leave the estate.”

I placed my hands on his chest, smoothing them up toward his neck and shoulders. “Actually, you said I shouldn’t be alone—and I wasn’t.”

A crease formed in his brow. “None of my guards were with you.”

“Well, no.” All of Tamlin’s guards had followed him on the hunt. Not that I would’ve recruited one of them anyway. They were overbearing and stiff and didn’t make for good company in the slightest. “A couple of workers from the orphanage—”

“And if you’d run into someone who’d meant you harm”—his features began to turn stony, and I realized I had switched from speaking to Tamlin to speaking to the Lord of the Spring Court—“what would they have done?”

I hardly recognized the desperate laugh I huffed out. “Tamlin, you just spent the day in the forest hunting creatures that are more than capable of killing you—”

“That’s different,” he said brusquely.

A heavy feeling settled in my core; the drop felt just before something went wrong—like foam-tipped acidic waves nearly kissing bare feet sunken into the decaying, saturated sand of a misty, shell strewn shore; or the ghost of a sharpened fang pressing into the skin on the back of my neck enough to pinch but not _quite_ enough to hurt; or the unintentional yet somehow deliberate way my hands paused in their naïve journey across his broad, powerful, coiled shoulders. _Something_ was telling me to stop pushing, stop challenging, stop _provoking_.

I chose to ignore it. “How? How is that different?”

“I had guards with me,” he returned with cool, sculpted restraint—honed from years of serving as Lord.

At first it didn’t register, what I was seeing. But it soon became unmistakable—the rage I saw in the feathering of his facial muscles, like tiny threads being yanked on by a puppetmaster struggling to maintain control of his creation. And for an awful, eternal, fleeting moment, I couldn’t tell whether Tamlin was the puppet or the master.

“And I just told you that I didn’t venture into town alone—”

“That’s not the same thing!”

I flinched impulsively at the force of his words, the sharpness in his tone, slowly letting my hands drop back to my sides as I shook my head in disbelief. Perhaps I’d cornered him into a reaction; perhaps I’d worn on his nerves for a second too long; perhaps this outburst was somehow my fault; but…

He’d been in far more taxing conversations with other Lords and never let his temper flare with them…

Instinctually, I took a step back.

“Feyre—”

I blinked, closing my mouth and setting my jaw, and turned toward the South Wing—toward my quarters.

“Feyre, wait!”

He sighed sharply when I didn’t stop walking, like he realized how completely he’d messed up. I’d heard him snap at Lucien before, of course, but that was different. Lucien was his emissary; they worked together closely on diplomatic matters, which meant that, inevitably, they would thoroughly and vocally disagree with one another.

But I wasn't his emissary, and the man from whom I'd accepted a marriage proposal didn't talk to me like I was another person he could just order around. At least... he never had _before._

“Feyre, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. Can we—Can we just talk about this?”

 _No,_ I wanted to bite, but… I didn’t feel like talking anymore—at all. Not when he’d so easily lashed out over what I thought was a simple—and perfectly fair—question.

“Feyre, please”—his hand caught my wrist, and I hoped that the glare in my eyes was vicious enough to wound.

He let his grip go lax and I took the opportunity to yank my arm back.

“I’m sorry. I—”

I quickened my pace, turning left at the painting of the Court lands on the eve of a summer solstice. He kept talking, kept begging me to stand still long enough for him to explain. But I wasn’t sure I _wanted_ to hear an explanation.

“Listen, I didn’t mean—”

I took the last few steps to my door and swung it open, turning to face him as I stepped inside.

Something between annoyance and regret was twisting his features. “Feyre—Feyre wait a minute!”

Harshly, I shut the door, keeping my face blank until it safely separated us.

“Feyre, don’t do this.” He sighed, frustrated. “Talk to me!”

I pressed my back against the hardwood, shutting my eyes to force back the tears as his fists lightly pounded on the other side of the door.

“I know I made a mistake, but be reasonable.”

I slid down, tucking my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my shins. He’d never spoken to me like that—like I was just another one of his subjects doing something he didn’t approve of; like I was a disobedient child.

“Don’t shut me out. Please—I know I overreacted.”

Though I fought them, the tears spilled down my cheeks; liquid fire cutting tracks into my skin, into my soul.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to…” I heard him press his palms against the door, wood creaking under his weight as he leaned into it. “Please just open the door.”

I tipped my head forward, burying my eyes in the fabric bunched at my knees.

“Feyre, please.” His voice had evened out; calm and steady. “I look like a fool right now. Please let me in. Let me apologize properly.”

Any other day, I might’ve listened; I might’ve trusted. But not today. Not after how he’d reacted.

And so I slowly reached up and turned the lock just underneath the handle, sealing myself in and him out.

“Very well,” he said, a tempered sorrow in his tone. But there was also something else… something… _cold._ “When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me.”

As the click of his boots faded down the hallway, I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or sad that he’d given up. I settled on feeling something in between the two.

 

* * *

 

“Any orphanages to visit today?” he said by way of greeting.

“ _Rhys!_ ” I yelped, shooting awake and clutching the blankets closer to my chest. “What are you _doing_ in here!?”

“You weren’t downstairs yet,” he said evenly, strolling around the perimeter of my rather large room. Tamlin was nothing if not generous, and my quarters were barely smaller than the entire house I’d grown up in. “I came to see what was keeping you.”

“Nothing!” I scrambled to check that I was covered in all the appropriate places. “I’m still in bed— _Get out!_ ”

Rhys waved his hand, and, under an invisible force, the heavy curtains that had been blocking out the bright, yellow-gold rays parted. I winced as the light hit me, wondering if he’d be able to tell that I’d been crying. Judging by how puffy my face felt, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

“Are you feeling alright?” His smirk faded when he caught sight of me, voice turning tender, and I had an answer to my unasked question.

“I’m _fine!_ ” I grit, seething at his continued intrusion. “Now _leave_ so I can put on some actual clothes.”

“Oh, well I’m _definitely_ not leaving now,” he teased, opening the top drawer to the dresser nearest him and pulling out a scrap of lace. “I vote for this… whatever it is. Though I’m not sure it will keep you very warm.”

“ _Prick,_ ” I grumbled, throwing the top covers off me and untucking the white silk sheet lying beneath, keeping it wrapped around me tightly as I stormed over to the washroom. I grabbed the first dress I could get my hands on before slamming the doors shut behind me.

Immediately, I went to the pump on the far wall and coated my hands the cold water, splashing it on my face and taking care to press it against my swollen eyes.

“My goodness,” I heard him mutter to himself, continuing to examine the negligee. “Times have changed since I last courted someone.”

“Keep your hands off my lingerie!” I shouted, loud enough for him to hear but not so loud that it would draw the attention of any of the housekeepers. The towel I grabbed was a welcome softness against the raw skin around my eyes.

“Ask me nicely,” he returned, and I could practically _hear_ the smirk in his words.

Irritated, I walked over and cracked the washroom door just enough to stick my head out. “Keep your dirty fucking hands off my delicate fucking underthings,” I said sweetly, in a tone so unlike my own.

He held the bit of red lace higher, swinging it left and right on his finger. “You forgot the magic word.”

“Please.” My smile was broad; sarcastic.

He grinned, dropping the tangle of lace, and moved on to something else. “All you had to do was ask.”

Satisfied, I closed the door and continued changing. “Why are you here, Rhys?” I called, threading my body through the multi-layered day dress, made thick enough to keep the wearer warm even in a Prythian winter. It was likely unnecessary given how the temperature had been rising the past several days, but with Rhys’s unexpected appearance, I hadn’t had time to pick out a different gown.

“I thought that was obvious,” he drolled, and it sounded like he’d stopped in front of my balcony doors. Memories of the last time he’d been in that part of my room came in flashes, and I swallowed back the thick wave of uneasiness that had begun to crest.

I straightened the bodice and fluffed the skirts, coaxing them to sit correctly on my hips, before I reached for the laces that stretched from my tailbone up to my shoulderblades. “Can’t you give a direct answer for _once_ in your life?”

“ _Someone’s_ in a bit of a mood today. Rough night, darling?” From anyone else, it would’ve sounded like an accusation, but from Rhys…

I paused, gulping, and then resumed tying up the back of the dress. “Why are you here, Rhys?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He was quiet, and I thought that he finally might’ve given it up, but then—“Would you like to talk about it?”

With the last of the laces finally tied, I looked at myself in the mirror and let out a sigh. My eyes were still a bit swollen, though not as bad as they had been when I’d walked into the washroom a few minutes ago; my hair was about as unkempt as it had ever been; and, though I’d contorted myself into all manner of odd angles, my dress still wasn’t as tight through the bodice as it should’ve been. Disappointed, I pinched my lips and began combing my fingers through my hair.

“Do you pester all your victims like this before killing them?” I grumbled, swinging the bathroom doors wide as I walked back into the main room.

Rhys was standing with his back to me, basking in the golden rays of the early morning sun, bits of light piercing through the permanent layer of darkness encasing his body.

He angled his head, eyes instantly finding me. “Only the ones who look like _that_ in a gown,” he breathed, awe stealing the volume from his words.

“Don’t patronize me,” I huffed, walking to the vanity so I could watch what I was doing as I styled my hair. “I know I look—”

“Stunning,” he finished, blinking. “You look stunning.”

I momentarily paused, a hairpin pinched between my fingers, and turned to look at him. “What’s gotten into you lately? First I’m delicious, now I’m stunning? I can’t tell if you’re admiring your next meal or—”

“Don’t talk like that.” His lip twitched like he might actually snarl, and something deep within me wanted to snarl back.

“Like what?” I hounded. “Like you’re eventually going to consume my heart? That _was_ our deal, wasn’t it? I didn’t hallucinate that nightmare, did I?”

The way he recoiled made me wonder if I’d actually struck him.

“Is that how you think of me?” he said, voice soft; broken. “As a nightmare?”

His reaction—the shock and confusion and _pain_ that flashed across his face was enough to make me regret the words. “No, that’s not what I—”

“I’m sorry for darkening your doorway, Feyre Archeron.” He straightened his broad shoulders, that smirk I’d come to expect fading from his expression. “I won’t bother you again.”

“Rhys, wait—”

He was gone before I could finish the sentence, taking his shadows with him.

_Rhys, please. I didn’t mean it that way._

Silence. Empty, deafening silence.

_Rhys._


	5. Part V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, i know. it's been 84 years since the last update. sorry—life and such. hopefully it doesn't take me nearly as long to update again. keep your fingers crossed!
> 
> anyway, i hope this was worth the wait. also, notice that i've decided to stretch this into 7 parts. and also maybe write a sequel...
> 
> in related news: i have no self control.

_Rhys, I’m sorry._

He hadn’t responded to me the previous day, no matter how many times I’d called for him. Eventually, I’d given up and crawled back into bed, finding solace in the warmth of the covers and the gentle crackling of the dying fire in the hearth on the far wall.

I ignored the persistent knocking of the housekeepers—and occasionally Tamlin—for the entire day, burying my head under a heavy down pillow and pretending like I couldn’t feel the hot sting of tears welling in my eyes. Whether the tears were from my fight with Tamlin or the guilt I felt about what I’d said to Rhys, I didn’t know. But they stained my sheets all the same.

Hunger pangs finally drew me out of my quarters, though I made sure to hold out until I thought Tamlin would be done eating. The kitchen staff offered to call him back for me, reminding me again and again that he had just finished and _it wouldn’t be any trouble._ I declined as politely and as many times as I could before downing a simple meal and stepping outside to wander the rows of the garden—following the call of some fractured hope that Rhys would appear and I might get the chance to properly apologize.

_Please… don’t shut me out._

I don’t know _why_ I thought he’d show up after the way I’d spoken to him, but something in me wouldn’t relent until I’d at least _tried_ … futile as it was.

Eventually, I gave up and reassembled the wall around my mind, resigning myself to an afternoon of reading in the East Wing sitting room. Tamlin rarely ventured over there on days when he was working, and the house staff would also be unlikely visitors unless I called for them specifically—which I wouldn’t be doing.

It didn’t take me long to get settled; to find a comfortable nook where the sun could warm my face while I read about a far-off land without magic or demons or other manner of terrifying creatures. What I hadn’t counted on, however, was the fact that the sitting room would serve as a constant reminder of Rhys—of all the times he’d come calling for me while I’d been sprawled out on the velvet-covered settee or tucked underneath one of the tall windows, basking in a ray of golden sunlight.

After fifteen minutes of staring at the door, wondering if he would just _appear,_ I gave up and moved to a different room in the estate.

 

* * *

 

It was pathetic, really—the fact that I was walking through the gardens— _again_ —in the hopes that being near the forest would cause him to show up. It hadn’t worked before, and I doubted it would prove to be any more successful this time around, but I strolled along the flagstone path all the same, dropping my walls to shout his name into the shared space between our minds.

As had become common, my outburst was met with silence. Shivering, I tugged my shawl tighter across my shoulders to ward off the persistent sting of the thick, frigid air. It had rained earlier in the day, and the combination of the storm front and the lingering clouds was causing a bit of a cold spell during an otherwise pleasant week.

_Please come back._

I wondered if he would be able to pick up on the desperation in my request; wondered how much of my emotional state filtered through to him via this bond of ours. Rhys had taught me how to shield my mind, and I was quite good at it now, but only revealing tiny, controlled pieces of my thoughts was still something I was trying to master.

The most frustrating part was not knowing if my attempts at contacting Rhys were successful. _If_ I was even managing to filter my thoughts the way I intended, there was no guarantee that he would be able to hear me. Still, though… it didn’t hurt to try.

_Life is duller without your visits._

The unfortunate truth—and something I would never say out loud, but… in my mind it was somehow easier to admit.

It was odd—the realization that I’d come to rely on his company; that I actually _wanted_ to spend time with him. His presence offered a reprieve from the monotony of life as Tamlin’s betrothed. Unlike the years I spent growing up near—and sometimes in—poverty, I didn’t want for anything as fiancée to the Lord of the Spring Court… anything save a break from the restrictions of my new life.

Perhaps it was unfair to be so ungrateful toward Tamlin, toward the luxuries I now knew thanks to his kindness. But… that fleeting twinge of guilt did little to temper the feeling as a whole, and so I pushed it aside altogether and went back to sweeping my gaze over the breaks in the flagstone path.

Pausing, I faced the towering wall of green to my right and plucked a leaf from the hedge, my fingers idly running over its smooth veins. There was a chill in the air and the sky was growing dark, but I could afford to wait another few minutes.

Just a moment longer.

When my thumb wore through the leaf from my relentless rubbing, I gave up trying to communicate with Rhys. Sealing the barrier around my mind once more, I began walking back toward the house, never knowing if he’d actually heard me.

 

* * *

 

The pearly glow of the full moon shone through the windows of my balcony doors, illuminating an indistinct, shadow-rimmed arch on the tan marble floor.

In some desperate attempt to invite karmic balance, I’d forgiven Tamlin for his outburst, thinking that, just maybe, if I forgave _him_ , Rhys would, in turn, forgive _me_. It was selfish and manipulative, but I didn’t care. Tamlin was beside himself with relief and had immediately cancelled his plans for the day—ignoring Lucien’s objections and warnings that postponing his obligations would have consequences.

He’d brushed off his emissary’s fears and cautiously asked if I would join him in a walk around the grounds. The smile didn’t quite reach my eyes when I accepted, but I agreed all the same. Spending time with Tamlin would be good, and we hadn’t gotten a quiet moment to ourselves in so long—and with the wedding coming up so quickly…

We had a nice enough day together, but the whole time we were walking through the garden hand in hand, I could think of nothing apart from what I would say to Rhys the next time he showed his face. I excused myself shortly after dinner, feigning a sudden headache. Tamlin walked me to my quarters, and, at my request, didn’t follow me inside.

I chose not to dwell on the flash of disappointment I saw when I asked him to leave me alone for the remainder of the night.

Buried underneath a heap of blankets, I stared at the patch of moonlight reflecting off the smooth panes of polished rock and wondered if I could summon him to the spot he’d occupied all those nights ago. I let the tempest of anxiety and fear build in my mind before I dropped my shield just enough to shout his name into the abyss.

I’d avoided calling for Rhys all day, thinking my silence might tempt him into appearing. Unfortunately, the only measurable effect thus far was my marked annoyance at his choice to remain mute.

I snapped the wall back up and let my thoughts calm, only marginally regretting the fact that I’d stooped to blasting faux-terror down the bond in the hopes that it would provoke a reaction.

There was no guarantee that he could hear me, though he _had_ shown up that day by the wall when the three men had attacked. Perhaps this bond only worked over short distances. Perhaps he was so far away now that none of my thoughts were actually reaching him.

Or perhaps…

I dropped my shields again. _Stop ignoring me, you prick._

 

* * *

 

“Tam, look!” I said excitedly, hand on the neck of a bottle of expensive-looking champagne.

An early-afternoon warmth filled Tamlin’s study as I strode into the room, indigo gown sweeping over the rich, red-brown wood panels of the floor. He and Lucien were holed up behind his desk, faces hovering over a pile of documents and near empty ink wells.

The previous day I’d been unfair to Tamlin—giving him only a sliver of my attention. For months he’d been nothing but kind to me, and I was choosing to hold a grudge over a momentary outburst—a lapse in judgement brought on by stress and a burden greater than I could even imagine.

Something had been weighing on him heavily—something that made him fear for my safety. I saw it in his eyes just before he’d shouted. Part of me wished that he would just _tell_ me whatever it was that haunted him, but I knew some secrets were still too sensitive to share—at least not until we were wed.

But I owed it to him—to _us_ —to give him a second chance. He deserved better than the disinterest I’d shown him, and, if we were truly going to be man and wife, I needed to give him the benefit of the doubt.

And so, when I saw the gift that had been sent to us in anticipation of our marriage, I made the choice to throw myself back into our relationship. A new start—for him and for me.

“What is it, dear?” he asked absentmindedly, features scrunched in concentration.

Lucien spared me a glance as I made it farther into the room, russet-toned eyes appraising me cautiously, but Tamlin stayed focused on his task. If I had to guess, I would’ve said that he was making up for the previous day when he’d brushed off work in favor of spending the afternoon with me.

“Would you look up for two seconds?” I prodded, holding up the bottle so he could see why I’d interrupted them. “The King sent us an early wedding present.”

Tamlin’s hand froze mid-letter of whatever word he’d been writing, and his head tilted up slowly until he was able to see me fully. Lucien silently stood, taking a step to his right like he might come over to the side of the desk I was on—perhaps to get a better view of the gift. There was something about the way he was staring at me, though, that seemed too… _severe._

“Feyre…” Tamlin questioned, and I took it as an invitation to read the engraving on the bottle aloud.

“ _To the Lord and Lady of Spring. May the sun shine brightly on your love and set slowly on your rule. Best wishes from your Sovereign,_ ” read the delicately etched calligraphy.

Tamlin shoved himself up to standing, knuckles braced on the table, crinkling the papers underneath. “Feyre, put that down.” His tone seemed so out of place, so harsh given the gift in my hands and what it implied.

Lucien eyed Tamlin expectantly, and the two of them had some silent conversation before Lucien nodded and took three steps toward me.

I laughed nervously, tightening my grip on the bottle to show I wasn’t being careless. “I won’t drop it, I promise. I realize how—”

“ _Feyre,_ ” Tamlin commanded, and I stilled at the force of his voice.

“Okay, fine.” I set the bottle on his desk—a little harder than I intended—and threw my hands up in resignation. If he was so worried about me scratching the damn thing, he could do the honors himself. “ _You_ open it, then.”

Tamlin visibly nodded at Lucien, who took the final few steps over to where I stood and gingerly plucked the champagne from its spot on the table. Without giving his customary bow, Lucien walked from the room, bottle securely caged between his fingers.

Dumbfounded, I stared at the emissary until he was out of sight and then directed my gaze toward Tamlin, squinting in confusion. “ _What_ is going on?”

Tamlin closed his eyes, sighing, and took the pressure off the backs of his hands. “Feyre,” he began, stepping around his desk and reaching for me, “there’s something I haven’t told you about the King.”

The light surrounding us dimmed as a cloud passed in front of the sun. Some faint echo of what Rhys had said that day, before he’d laid his hands on Tamlin’s pale, shuddering chest, rattled around in my core, reminding me of half-formed fears and unverified suspicions.

I met him where he stood, offering him my palms even as I angled my head cautiously to the side. “Tam, you’re scaring me.”

He gave a weak half smile. “That’s what I was afraid of.” He kissed the backs of my hands, keeping his lips against them as he continued to speak. “The King and I don’t always see eye to eye on matters concerning the future of the realm.” Another kiss.

I didn’t move—didn’t dare _breathe_ lest he change his mind about revealing this information to me.

“Do you…” He lowered my hands but made no move to let go—or to pull me closer. “Do you remember when I was poisoned?”

The way he refused to meet my eyes made me nervous for whatever he was about to say, but I managed to keep my voice even all the same. “Of course I do.”

Tamlin could recall the before and after of being poisoned, but Lucien and I… _we_ remembered the _during._ _We_ remembered waiting with full, heavy lungs as healer after healer told us there was nothing we could do apart from making him comfortable. _We_ remembered the sense of hopelessness as the veins under his skin turned black and the toxin crept closer and closer to his heart. _We_ remembered planning for what would happen in the event of our Lord’s death. _We_ remembered all the details Tamlin had been unconscious for.

He sighed. “I should’ve told you this weeks ago.”

My heart quickened, but I kept my tone soft. “Should’ve told me _what_...?”

“The reason that sorceress set her sights on me,” he started slowly, words tinged with regret, like he was cursing himself for sharing—or perhaps _not_ sharing—this truth with me, “was because the King paid her to do so.”

Any pretense of a neutral expression was forgotten, and I felt my brows pinch together harshly as I tried to make sense of what he’d just told me. “You mean it wasn’t because I…” Amarantha, I remembered. Amarantha was the name of the sorceress who’d hexed Tamlin beyond what any healer could cure—and ever since that day I’d blamed myself because I’d been _sure_ I’d provoked her into hurting him. “All this time I thought it was my fault.”

“What? Why would it be—”

I yanked my hands back, suddenly hating the way his skin felt against mine. “Did you know?”

“I—”

“Did you know all along that King Hybern was behind it?” My throat felt too tight, the air felt too thin, his body felt too near to mine.

“I had my suspicions”—Tamlin took a step forward, gingerly reaching for the arm I had pulled back only a second ago, and I moved farther away—“but—”

“Oh my gods.” When he tried to reach for me again I nearly strained a muscle in my shoulder with how quickly I jerked my arm across my body. He winced but let his hands drop back to his side.

A grandfather clock against the far wall ticked, slow and loud and mechanical, marking the seconds of silence between us. I grit my teeth and struggled to keep my breathing level.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you, Feyre, but the only reason I didn’t tell you was because I didn’t want you to be scared.” His tone was soft yet… not. At first I couldn’t put my finger on what sounded off about it, but then I realized that he was growing frustrated. The fact that I was reacting so strongly was causing his patience to wear thin.

“Really?” I pressed, ignoring the edge in his voice and disregarding his comfort. Perhaps he _deserved_ to feel uncomfortable. “That was the _only_ reason?”

“Well, I also thought that if you knew you might no longer want to marry me,” he explained, rushing the words.

I balled my hands into fists, hardening my gaze and dropping my shoulders from where I’d raised them. My initial shock was fading—into anger; red hot and volatile enough to burn everything we were to ashes.

“That you might be afraid of what it would mean to be my wife, but I—”

“And you didn’t think I deserved the right to make that choice for _myself?_ ” I said coldly, evenly; forging the rage I felt coursing through me into something dangerous; something sharp.

“That’s not what—”

“I was willing to give up my _life_ for you!” That cool control I’d had over my words a moment ago was slipping, and I didn’t know how much longer I could speak without resorting to shouting. My blood burned and my eyes stung from the tears I refused to shed—not now; not in front of him. “I was—”

“Your life?” he said, drawing his brows together in confusion. “Feyre, what are you talking ab—”

“Is _that_ why you won’t let me leave the grounds?” I said softly, piecing together his recent attempts at limiting my freedom; finally understanding what had driven him to be so forceful in setting restrictions.

Silhouettes of wind-rustled trees danced across the floor of the hall, and Tamlin’s breathing nearly aligned with the back-and-forth of their shadows. Left, right, left, right.

Silence.

“I—”  The way he gulped told me I was right. “The King can be unpredictable,” he said gently, apparently realizing how close to snapping I truly was. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“I would’ve been safer if you’d just _told_ me,” I grit.

“I didn’t want to—”

“Frighten me? Is that _really_ what you were about to say?” I managed to keep my anger leashed—but just barely. “Because I think if you were actually being honest, you’d admit that you didn’t want to risk losing me. That you didn’t _trust me_ to look past it.”

“Fey—”

“And maybe you were right,” I said distantly, clenching my jaw and looking to the side, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Perhaps I was letting the anger speak for me—I couldn’t actually tell anymore—but I hoped the words stung like I’d meant them to.

“Feyre,” he begged, and I didn’t feel bad about the way his voice broke on the sounds of my name. In fact, it felt like a victory. “Let’s talk about th—”

“I can’t do this right now.” I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t _stay_ where I was any longer. I closed my eyes, shaking my head.

“Feyre.”

I turned away and started walking toward the garden.

“Feyre—”

Throwing open the double glass doors, I strode onto the terrace, and then, before I could think better of it, I broke into a full-out sprint. Roughly, I hiked my skirts up so they wouldn’t trip me as I raced down the stairs and across the flagstone path—until the darkened tree line swallowed me whole.

Tamlin kept shouting my name, but I focused only on the way my feet fell against the earth in heavy _thumps,_ the way the air felt cold as it filled my lungs, the way bark scraped my palms as I brought myself to an abrupt halt against one of the trees.

I didn’t realize I was crying until I tasted a tear that had rolled down my face, onto my lips.

And then it struck me. All this time I had been sure Tamlin and Lord Tamlin were different, but… they weren’t; they never had been. I had convinced myself the decisions he made as Lord of the Spring Court, the cruelty he was capable of showing toward those who’d failed him in some way, was more of an act than a true testament of his character. But that had been naïve.

 _I_ had been naïve.

The man and the ruler… they were one in the same.

“Feyre!” he yelled, searching the garden, not realizing I’d retreated to the forest beyond the perfectly manicured hedges, beyond the life he’d cultivated for us. “Feyre, please come back. Let me explain.”

I rolled my body, pressing my back against the hip-wide trunk of the tree which shielded me from sight. Letting the brittle, winter-hardened bark scratch and snag against my gown, I slid down to the moss-covered forest floor. Tamlin’s voice continued to drone behind me, growing more urgent and frantic with each passing moment, but I didn’t care. He could yell all he liked—could even enlist the help of the guards if he wanted. I had no desire to reveal my hiding spot any time soon—not voluntarily, at least.

Fighting against the corset tied tight around my bust, I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms across my shins, and lowered the barrier around my mind.

 _You were right about Tamlin. He_ has _been keeping things from me._

I continued to hear my name being shouted in earnest, and then half-a-dozen sets of footsteps converged on where Tamlin stood. Guards. They’d no doubt heard his yowling.

_But you already knew that, didn’t you?_

Between shaky breaths, tears spilled over the rims of my eyes, falling down my cheeks and dropping onto my skirts in dark, disconnected blotches. Embarrassed, I reconstructed my mental shields, cursing myself for reaching out to Rhys at all, especially when he’d been ignoring me for days.

I don’t know what I’d been expecting.

I’d called him a nightmare. A _nightmare._

Lucien’s voice, still far away, was the only one I recognized as he said, “What’s happened? Where is she?”

I buried my head in the fullness of my skirts, blocking out the sounds of the men shouting my name and trying not to think of how long I had until they found me.

 

* * *

 

Lucien had been the one to locate me, crumpled against an old pine tree and sobbing into my dress. I’d ignored the distinct press of his boots against the pliant earth as he’d approached.

 _“C’mon, love,”_ he’d said. _“Let’s get you back inside.”_

I hadn’t fought him when he’d pulled me to standing and dabbed away my tears with a clean, soft handkerchief he’d pulled from the breast pocket of his vest. There would’ve been no point to resisting anyway.

In some small mercy, he’d escorted me back to my room instead of back to Tamlin like I’d thought he would.

Tamlin had, no doubt, told his men to return me to him the minute one of them found me, which meant Lucien was defying a direct order. The only other time he’d done that was when he’d let me cross the Wall into the Steppes in search of a creature that could heal our poisoned, dying Lord.

Before the toxin, boosted in power and lethality by magic, had rendered Tamlin unconscious, he’d given Lucien a single order: “Keep her safe.”

Desperately, Lucien had searched for some way— _any_ way to cure Tamlin, and, in a stroke of luck had stumbled upon an old text describing a creature akin to the long-extinct genie that could potentially heal any wound or ailment, no matter how severe. He’d wanted to go on the hunt for the creature himself, but, with Tamlin incapacitated, the responsibility of governing the Spring Court had fallen to Lucien—which meant he couldn’t leave.

It had broken both of us, I think, to see Tamlin like that; perhaps him more so than I.

Reluctantly, Lucien had agreed to let me go where he could not; to do that which duty prevented him from doing.

In some ways, we understood each other—the devotion we each felt toward Tamlin, toward his ideals and the vision he had for his people. In other ways, though… in other ways we would never see eye to eye.

Politely, Tamlin and Lucien discussed business while I sat opposite them at the long, formal dining room table. A golden runner contrasted sharply against the rich mahogany, matching the stitching of Tamlin’s finely-made vest, and I pushed the meticulously prepared food around my plate. I hadn’t eaten more than a few bites, but I kept rearranging the sweet potatoes and roasted duck so it looked like I’d been picking away at it the entire time.

Lucien kept sliding his eyes over to me suspiciously, flicking his gaze between my untouched food and my weak smile. I stabbed a hunk of meat and placed it in my mouth, forcing myself to chew and swallow. Lucien seemed satisfied by the show and turned his focus fully back to Tamlin.

Tamlin. The man to whom I was engaged. At present, I couldn’t think of a single reason to maintain our relationship. Not after he’d been dishonest with me. Not after he’d withheld information because he thought I would turn tail and run if I knew the truth. Though, in a way, I suppose he was right. Now that I knew everything, I was contemplating ending things—but not for the reasons he’d predicted.

 _He’s a good man,_ I reminded myself, searching for something— _anything_ to keep myself from severing ties with someone I’d once loved so deeply. _He’s a good man, and he’s good for this Court._

I tried for a smile, but, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t make it reach my eyes. The way Tamlin feathered his jaw and returned a tight-lipped smile of his own told me he knew that my expression was a hollow one.

Casting my gaze downward, I focused on the embroidered pattern of the table runner, letting my fork rest limply between my fingers.

_He makes choices based on what he thinks will be best for his people. He didn’t tell me about Hybern’s attempt on his life because he didn’t want me to worry. That’s all._

And though I spoke the words in my mind, I couldn’t seem to believe them.

I tried to listen to the conversation taking place between Tamlin and Lucien. Something about the Wall separating our lands from the Steppes and an agreement to form a coalition, banding their militaries together into one unified force. It seemed important enough, and they so rarely let me hear details like this, but… I simply didn’t care.

Perhaps I would tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. But now… I wanted nothing to do with any of it.

And then I realized that, even if I _did_ care, the topic of conversation was completely out of my depth. Even if I _was_ interested, I had nothing of substance to contribute, nothing relevant to say, nothing new or fresh or clever to add. In effect, they had started a conversation in which, at best, I would have to resign myself to being a passive listener.

When Tamlin had first taken interest in me, I’d been so starved for affection that I had been happy to wait quietly while he discussed Court matters with his advisors. After the first interruption during a day out together, he’d apologized and explained that, unlike others, he never truly stopped working. I’d thought it was admirable. His devotion to his Court and his people had been one of the things that drew me to him the most, in fact.

Since then, though, I’d had the opportunity to engage in interesting conversations—with someone who cared what I had to say and how I felt. As such, I was no longer content with just listening.

 _Rhysand,_ I thought, pulling back the protective curtain around my mind. _I can’t… I can’t talk to anyone here._

Silence.

Tamlin and Lucien carried on about troop placement and arguments for and against maintaining the Wall, but I ignored all of it.

 _Rhys, please._ It felt too much like begging—to ask for his attention this way, but… _I’m lonely._

I hauled my wall back up, feeling dumb and exposed and _childish_ for admitting something so personal to someone who was refusing to even acknowledge me, and, though I tried to suppress it, I could feel my cheeks go pink.

Reluctantly, I turned my attention back to Tamlin, gazing at him— _seeing_ him for what felt like the first time ever. Then, only to myself, I admitted something I’d been denying for days—perhaps weeks.

_I don’t trust him anymore._

 

* * *

 

Time. I just needed time to adjust to what Tamlin had confessed.

I had no right to be angry with him—not when I’d been keeping information about my deal with Rhys a secret from him since the day I’d made the bargain.

For at least an hour now, I’d been barricaded in my washroom, sinking lower and lower in what had once been a hot bath. Several times I’d heard knocks at the door and nervous voices—maids asking if I was ready to get dressed because _the Lord is expecting you_ —and each time I’d ignored them completely.

This time, though, there was something different about the person standing on the other side of the door; something that told me it wasn’t just another maid. The person gave a gentle rap and then—

“Feyre?”

Lucien. There was a wariness in his tone—a hesitancy in the way he called for me.

“Feyre, are you alright? You weren’t at breakfast. Tamlin’s worr— _We”_ —he corrected—“are worried about you.”

I didn’t make a single noise, but brought the washrag up to cover myself in case he got it into his mind to barge in without my permission. By not responding, it was entirely possible that he’d think the worst and shoulder through the locked door to make sure I was, indeed, alive. I was willing to take the risk, though.

“Feyre, I know you’re in there. You don’t have to say anything, but please listen. Gods,” he mumbled, more to himself than to me, “he would kill me if he knew I was saying something, but I can’t stand to see either of you mope around any longer.”

He went silent on the other side of the door, and for a brief moment I thought he’d decided better of telling me whatever it was that would likely make Tamlin upset, but then—

“He thought he was protecting you by keeping the truth of his poisoning a secret.” The words came out in a rush, like they’d been ripped from his chest against his will. He took several heavy breaths before continuing, resigned to the fact that the worst of it was over with and there was no point in holding back now.

“He thought he could set things right with the King and you’d never need know anything had been wrong in the first place. But…” Lucien sighed. “Well, it didn’t work out that way. He realizes now that he should’ve been honest up front—should’ve told you about his suspicions right after he recovered. He knows it was wrong to keep something like that from you, and if he could do it again…”

I slid down in the tub until the water covered my ears, muffling the sound of Lucien’s voice droning on and on about how sorry Tamlin was, about how he’d omitted the truth for my own wellbeing. Perhaps Lucien truly thought that.

Though, if Tamlin truly _was_ sorry, why was Lucien apologizing instead of him?

Staring at the pale blue ceiling, I carefully opened a sliver in my mental shields.

_Rhysand, please. I’m suffocating here._

I don’t know what I’d expected, but the hollow silence felt colder than it had any of the other times I’d reached out to him. I hauled my walls back up just before a wave of embarrassment washed over me—that I had dared put such a raw piece of myself on display for him to see; that I had inadvertently beckoned him while I sat in the bath, naked; that he had somehow become the one person I felt I could have an honest conversation with; that instead of trying to repair things with Tamlin, I was seeking out Rhys.

I took a deep breath and sank lower, letting the water cover me completely; letting it press on my lungs and support my limbs and blur the lines between the life I’d envisioned and the life I was currently living.

Just when I thought I couldn’t hold my breath a second longer, I breached the surface, taking a deep pull of the moisture thick air hanging in the room. It took me a moment to notice the quiet—to realize that the only sounds I could hear were the water sloshing in the tub and the songs of the birds outside the open window. Lucien had disappeared, and I couldn’t decide if I was grateful for the extra space or upset that he’d chosen to abandon the task of convincing me that Tamlin had only had my best interest at heart when he’d lied.

I relaxed back into the cooling water, letting my mind go blank as the sound of the outside world replaced the noise inside my head—voices arguing about what Tamlin had or hadn't meant to do. I didn't want to think about it anymore; didn't want to devote any more of my time to uncovering his motivations. 

A piece of me whispered that I was being unfair; that I had no right to be mad because...

I sank back underneath the water, pushing air out of my nose, refusing to think about all the ways I, too, was lying to  _him._

 

* * *

 

I stood watching raindrops slide down the clear panes of glass of my closed balcony doors, their vertical paths reminding me too much of wrought-iron bars designed to keep someone from escaping. When I’d first moved into the estate, it had been a dream—an impossible, overwhelming dream. But now…

For the seventh day in a row, I dropped my mental shields, preparing to send a message to Rhys—if he was even bothering to listen.

I’d refrained from saying the words thus far—out of fear or embarrassment or pride, I wasn’t sure—but some part of me had stopped caring about appearances, and so I let the last of my vanity melt away until the words wouldn’t stay in any longer.

_I miss you. There, I said it. Are you happy now?_

“Thrilled,” he whispered, breath tickling my ear, and I startled so violently that I nearly lost my footing.

I swiped for him but he winnowed just out of reach.

“Ah-ah, Feyre darling,” he tsked, smirking. “Mustn’t touch, remember?”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn if touching you causes the entire southern hemisphere to burst into flame, _Rhysand,”_ I said harshly, careful to keep my voice low enough so as not to draw the attention of any nearby housekeepers. “I plan to flog you until you get it through your thick, immortal skull that _dropping off the face of the earth_ just because you’re upset is _not_ an appropriate way to respond to someone.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, lips pulling taut into a smirk. “If I recall correctly, you said that you missed me.”

“And I’m already regretting it.”

His shadows lapped at the floor, twisting and writhing in a living puddle near his feet. “And that you were suffocating here by yourself.”

“I was exaggerating,” I grumbled.

He dipped his head, moving half-a-step closer. “And that life was duller without me.”

“Clearly I was going out of my mind.” It was an interesting, confusing feeling—wanting to yell at him for disappearing but sigh with relief that he’d shown back up.

“And, correct me if I’m wrong,” he continued, a devilish grin firm on his face, “but yesterday you were most definitely thinking of me while you were in the—”

“Don’t read too much into it,” I said coldly, cutting him off before he could finish the thought, wondering if a blush crept into my cheeks.

The stunning violet of his eyes seemed to burn brighter; stronger. “Oh, it’s far too late to make that request, darling.”

I tried not to focus on the way something lurched in my chest when he used the pet name; on how easily we’d slipped back into comfortable banter; on what I would’ve done if he’d never returned at all.

“What I said the other day….”  

“What? That you actually enjoy my comp—”

“No, I—” He was giving me an out. I could fold into it and laugh about something I’d said in desperation, but… he deserved an apology. “I never meant…”

I’d been raw and ready to hurt anyone who got close enough for me to strike—regardless of whether or not they deserved the pain. It hadn’t been intentional, to direct my coiled frustration at him, but it had happened all the same.

“I never meant to call you…” I didn’t know how to say it; didn’t know how to turn back the clock so those words had never escaped my mouth. He wasn’t a nightmare—not even close. Perhaps at the beginning, when I didn’t know him, when every breath I took was tinged with fear that it might be my last. But not since then… Not now…

He took a step toward me, noticing my hesitation.

I set my jaw, meeting the curious look on his face with unflinching honesty. “You’re a good man, Rhys.”

The faintest of tics pulled at the corner of his mouth; a rueful mask of someone who didn’t believe a thing he’d just heard. “I stopped being a man a long time ago.” There was a sadness in his eyes as he let the words roll off of him like water from a leaf—touching the surface but not sinking in.

I stepped closer, opening my mind just enough for him to _feel_ what I chose to say next. “Not to me.”

His utter stillness said more than any visible reaction would have.

Cautiously, so as not to startle him, I inched my feet closer to where he was standing, until wisps of shadow eclipsed the hem of my dress, and tilted my chin up expectantly. “Well,” I said slowly, gently, “aren’t you going to ask me if I want to go for a walk?”

He looked at me for a long moment, unmoving, and there was a tentative confidence in his voice when he finally spoke; a question that transcended the actual words. “Would you like to—”

“Yes,” I said quickly, not blinking, and I could’ve sworn I saw relief sweep through him the way his brows softened and he took a heavy breath.

He paused to smirk, and I recognized the return of his familiar bravado from the way his eyes sparkled with mischief. “It’s rude to interrupt someone.”

I’d denied it before, but it had been the truth. I’d missed this. I’d missed _him._

As odd as that was.

“I didn’t realize manners were something you cared about.” It was only when I jutted my chin forward that I noticed how close we’d become, how I’d eaten up the distance between us with tiny, repeated steps until I was forced to angle my head back to meet his gaze.

“It’s hard to imagine _why_ I stayed away for a week,” he teased, a wry smile still pulling on his lips.

“ _Prick._ ”

He smelled of citrus and cinnamon and the morning after a winter rain; crisp and warm and… too close. We’d never been this near to each other—and the danger of it suddenly dawned on me. If either of us moved unexpectedly, we could touch.

I blinked as he rolled his shoulders and took a few steps back, pacing behind the plush chairs curved around a small, low-standing table. He slid his hands into his pockets, coming to a halt behind a peony-toned chair with a rounded back. “Where, exactly, would you like to go on our walk, Feyre darling? There’s at least two dozen guards between this room and the forest.” He raised his brows to punctuate his observation, a smart grin still in place. “Not to mention it’s pouring rain outside.”

“Alright,” I conceded, expression dropping into one of disinterest as I stepped in front of the sofa to my left. Keeping my spine straight, I sank down onto its edge, flicking my eyes up to his. “No walk then.”

Something shifted in his features and I saw his jaw clench as he waited for me to continue.

“We can stay in here instead,” I suggested, motioning to the chair across from me, the one he was standing behind.

His shadows flared as his lips quirked to the side. “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

Breakfast with Tamlin was silent. I picked at the fruit and fresh bread prepared for us by the kitchen staff, pretending not to notice all the times Tamlin looked my way, a wariness in his gaze.

The storm from the previous day had moved on, and bright beams of morning light flooded the dining hall, bathing the long table in golden hues and slowly heating the silverware resting to the side of my plate. Droplets of water still clung to the tall windows and weighed down the trees just outside—whose leaves had finally begun to return in full, glorious green. At the head of the table, Tamlin appeared to glow with the way the sunlight was settling on his hair and clothes—soft and gilded and royal.

Whatever issues he and I were currently having, it was obvious he was meant for this role. The question, then, was whether or not _I_ was also.

I folded my hands on my lap, pressing my palms against the pastel yellows and pinks in the design of my skirts, and tried to muster up the will to speak to my fiancé about something— _anything._ My eyes traced the winding, green thorns printed onto the fabric, not yet willing to meet Tamlin’s gaze.

“Feyre,” Tamlin said, warming the dead air between us as he reached for my hand, “I never meant—”

“If one more person from Winter Court so much as—” Lucien came strolling into the dining hall, flustered and clearly not noticing my presence until he bothered to look up. “Oh, good morning, Feyre. I didn’t think you’d be down here so early.”

I offered him a weak smile. For nearly a week now I’d been avoiding morning meals with them.

“Lucien,” Tamlin greeted, a bit annoyed but otherwise pleasant, withdrawing his hand from where it had been stretching toward mine to gesture at the chair nearest him. “Please, have a seat.”

Lucien sat down opposite me, to Tamlin’s left, and immediately began loading up his plate with the spread of food displayed along the center of the table. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, Feyre,” he said after a couple of cautionary glances my way—to see if I was up for conversation.

It took me a moment to realize he was giving me the option to not engage. I could simply nod and go back to my meal without it seeming rude, but… “It’s a beautiful morning. I felt like spending it with company.” Not entirely true, but also not entirely false. The wedding was five weeks away, and I couldn’t keep avoiding them the way I had been. I needed to find a way to move past everything that had happened—and breakfast seemed like a good first step.

“Well, I, for one, am happy you decided to join us. Tamlin can be quite lousy at conversation before he’s had his coffee, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d get to have an intelligent discussion before noon ever again.”

Tamlin glared at him but brought his coffee cup to his lips anyway, taking a long sip from it.

The smile that broke across my face was genuine, and, for the first time in days, I thought that, with time, things might just go back to normal; with time, maybe this rift between us would heal.

 

* * *

 

“I was thinking—”

I startled, pressing a palm down onto the vanity to steady myself.

“—that we could take a trip over the Wall and I could show you—”

“Don’t you have anything better to do”—I smoothed the panel of my bodice, skewering him with a harsh gaze that demanded an explanation for why he’d shown up unannounced—“than drag me on a day trip to the Steppes?”  

Rhys flopped back on the sofa between me and the door, stretching his legs out and sliding one arm behind his head. His shadows blended into his night-black suit, making it hard to tell where fabric ended and magic began. “As luck would have it, no. My schedule is completely free today.”

“Joy,” I said dryly.

He waited a beat, smirking. “So, what do you say, Feyre darling? Will you join me?” There was something in his eyes—something… sincere.

“You’re serious.” It was an observation more so than a question.

“Always.”

A cool breeze from the open balcony doors ruffled the hem of my skirts, and I shuffled forward to get out of its path, glaring at him, heartbeat finally returning to normal. “I don’t suppose you’ll just let me have the afternoon to myself.”

Rhys’s lips quired to the side. “Afraid not.”

“Figures,” I grumbled, taking a few more steps toward him until my feet were on the rug that covered the floor underneath the couch and chairs. “Why the Steppes?

“There’s a creature I’d like you to meet,” he said idly, tracing his finger through the air and spinning wispy threads of blue magic that dissolved almost as soon as they’d been conjured.

A huff came out before I could stop it. “I think I’ve met enough creatures for one lifetime.” As soon as I said the words, I realized they might’ve come across as insulting, and I winced.

It was easy to forget Rhys was one of those creatures—a monster I’d been taught to fear ever since I was old enough to hear the stories of what his kind did to mine. But… if I didn’t focus on the power rolling off of him—midnight black and dangerous and infinitely old—he was just as normal as any other man, yet… not. Perhaps it was his age, but there was something about him—in the way he carried himself and in the frustrating patience he always showed—that set him apart; that made him… different.

“You’ve never met one like _her,_ ” he said smoothly, eyes fierce.

I was so distracted by the power dancing along his fingertips that I nearly missed what he’d said—but one word echoed in my chest even as the others faded out of existence. _“Her?”_

Apart from the bogge, he’d never mentioned knowing any other creatures, but… for him to refer to this one as a ‘her’ meant they had a history. I tried to bury the sudden surge of curiosity, but the way Rhys’s mouth curled up told me I’d failed miserably.

“Yes, and if you’d like to know more, you’ll just have to come along.”

I crossed my arms and shifted my weight onto one leg. “And if I have no interest in learning more?”

Rhys’s shadows seemed to darken, and his tone turned serious. “You would be doing me a great favor, Feyre—if you met with her.”

Even with its high ceilings, the room seemed too small to hold the growing silence between us—pushing on the walls and the floors and the burning fire within me that always flared brighter when Rhys was near.

“Why me?”

He angled his chin, arm still bent behind his head, and held my gaze a moment before responding. “I made a promise a very long time ago, and I think I might finally be able to deliver on it.”

The weight in his words told me he meant it—that this was important to him. Still, though… the Steppes were dangerous and I wasn’t about to risk life and limb without a good reason—even if he could likely protect me from any dangers we’d face. “That’s not an answer.”

“I’d be happy to explain everything if—” His face dropped and his whole body went rigid.

I pinched my brows together, confused as to why he’d broken off his thought mid-sentence when—

The door to my quarters swung open and Tamlin strode into the room.


	6. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you believe this fic is almost complete!? i'm so excited. we're almost there, y'all :D
> 
> tbh, this part and the previous one definitely aren't my favorites, but they're necessary for the overall story i'm trying to tell. bUT... a few of my favorite sentences in the fic are hidden in this chapter. props if you can spot them ;)
> 
> anyway, enjoy! and thanks for reading!!

Rhys was gone before Tamlin had fully made it over the threshold—quick as an adder’s strike and silent as smoke.

“Dearest, I wanted to—” he broke off, sweeping his gaze from side to side and furrowing his brow as he took a few more steps into my quarters. “Were you… talking to someone?”

“No, I—” The floor felt like it might fall out from under my feet—send me tumbling into a dark, bottomless chasm without hope of righting myself. “I was just thinking aloud.”

Tamlin hummed, like he was weighing the merit of my excuse. It took more control than I thought I possessed, but, despite my hammering pulse, I managed to keep my face neutral and my eyes soft.

 _There’s nothing for him to find,_ I reassured myself. _And besides… I wasn’t doing anything wrong._

“I came to ask if you’d like to join me for a ride through the grounds,” he said lightly, eyes still tracing around the perimeter of my overly-large suite. “It’s shaping up to be a lovely day, and the horses are already saddled.”

My fingers tugged on the edge of my bodice to center it, palms shaking as they smoothed over the two pieces of fabric once I was satisfied with how they laid. “No, I don’t, um…” _I don’t want to be alone with you._ The realization hit me square in the chest, but it was something I’d have to deal with later. For now I just needed to get him to _leave_ so that I could recompose myself. “I don’t think I’m feeling up to a ride.” I clasped my hands behind my back to hide their trembling.

“Oh,” he said, my refusal clearly catching him off guard.  

Metal forges weren’t capable of reaching the temperatures I currently felt creeping up my neck and into my cheeks, and I hoped whatever flush was showing at least lended to my excuse that I wasn’t feeling well. “It’s a beautiful day.” A wobble threatened to weave its way into my words, and so I paused to wrestle control back from my stubborn, thumping heart. “You should go,” I said kindly.

Outside my balcony doors, sounds of stablehands readying horses for a ride made their way up to our level—teeth gnashing against metal bits and excited whinnying and the distinctive click of a human tongue urging the beasts forward.

“I—”  Pausing, Tamlin neatly tucked each of his emotions back into place before tilting his head and giving me a small but genuine smile. “I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

“Go,” I urged, trying to sound sincere rather than terrified that he’d see straight through my anxious insistence. “Enjoy your ride.”

Tamlin leaned in the direction of the door but paused before his feet ever moved. “You’re sure you won’t come?”

Another version of me, perhaps in another life, would’ve dropped everything at a riding invitation from the Lord of the Spring Court. It was… _odd_ to realize that my life—my _choices_ —no longer revolved around his schedule or whims. “Not today.”

The yellow-gold rays of sunshine stretched long across the floor of my quarters, illuminating the rug and the sofa and the armoire against the far wall. Tamlin’s toes, covered by polished leather boots, caught a bit of the light, too, though the rest of him stayed just out of its reach.

“Very well,” he said dejectedly. “I’ll come see you when I get back.”

Dutifully, he walked over to where I sat, and, automatically, I tilted my face up to meet his when he leaned down to give me a kiss. A week ago, my skin burned hot at the mere thought of being intimate with him. Now, though… now, I didn’t even feel so much as a spark.

With each interaction, I was discovering just how deep his dishonesty had cut; how jagged and raw that wound was—and how little it had yet healed.

“No rush,” I said sweetly, silently wondering how long this… tension between us would last. How many more days would I punish him? How much time would it take for me to truly forgive his deception?

My comment seemed to strike true, and his eyes hardened a bit—wounded or upset or angry, I wasn’t sure, but I’d been trying for as much, if I was being honest.

He placed one final, gentle kiss to the crown of my head before seeing himself out and closing the door behind him. I settled into my chair a little more comfortably and picked up a book resting on the side table, fanning it open and—

“My apologies—”

I jolted at the smooth timbre of his voice, closing my eyes to calm myself down again.

“—for jumping away like that without properly excusing myself.”

I snapped the book shut and stood, turning to face him. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“I… got distracted,” he said seriously, face unreadable. “It won’t happen again.”

The crease between his brows told me he was likely thinking the same thing I was: _What would Tamlin have thought if he’d actually caught a glimpse of Rhys stretched across my sofa? What would he have assumed? What would he have_ done?

“How does it work?” I asked quickly, eager to change the subject and not wanting to dwell any longer on what might’ve happened if Rhys had reacted even a second later. “Winnowing, or… whatever you call it.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, focus replacing the tension I’d seen on his face a moment before, as if he was struggling to settle on an explanation I’d be able to comprehend. The intensity of his expression broke, brows shooting upward in triumph as he evenly strode over to my vanity and picked up a cream-colored handkerchief from where it had been sitting on the side of the desk.

“Imagine this cloth is the world.” He paused, holding it up for show.

I eyed him skeptically.

He pressed on, undeterred. “Normally, when people travel from one place to another, they pass through all the places in between. But winnowing”—he collapsed the square piece of fabric, aligning the corners diagonal from each other—“allows one to… bypass those in-between places.”

I cocked an eyebrow his direction, unconvinced by the simplicity of the explanation.

“Think of winnowing as…” Rhys shifted his gaze to the side as he searched for the right words; then a wry smile pulled on the corners of his mouth, and he slid his eyes back to mine. “Think of it as folding space.”

Like most things with him, I got the feeling that there was more to it than he was letting on, but there was no way for me to be sure. “How did you learn to do it?”

Rhys gave a half-smile, and it made him look younger—more human. “Before I was… _made_ , there was magic all over.” A breathless wonder gilded his tone—nostalgia for the days before he’d been turned into a daemati. “It’s… become less and less common over the years, and now most of its strength seems confined to the Steppes, but centuries ago creatures coexisted with humans virtually everywhere—here, the Steppes, lands across the sea.”

That’s why the Wall existed, Father had told me when I was younger—to separate the magical wilds from civilization.

People—historians, mostly—always credited the Nox Clan massacre as the linchpin in uniting the region, resulting in the construction of the Wall. Shortly after the massacre, the warlord had mysteriously died and the remaining clans, seeking to protect themselves from future attack as well as section off their lands from the untamed Steppes, decided to build a wall, fortified with magic and spelled to weaken the abilities of anyone born to the south of it.

It took a generation to build and another generation to see the effects, but… the Wall had fulfilled its purpose. Magic slowly faded until only a few people in a hundred were able to manipulate the world around them in ways others couldn’t.

It was odd to think that things hadn’t always been that way.

“Everywhere?” I breathed, not actually meaning to speak the word aloud.

The violet of Rhys’s eyes glinted at my question. “Yes, Feyre,” he said reverently. “Everywhere.”

Flowers planted throughout the gardens on the estate grounds were finally beginning to bloom during the ever-warming spring days, and the breeze sweeping in through the balcony doors smelled of lilac and daffodils; sweet and fresh and new.

“My people were, by far, the most adept at maintaining the balance of the region,” he went on. “We used magic to keep us safe—to protect territories unable to defend themselves and ward off attacks from some of the nastier beasts. A number of other clans attacked us over the years—angry that we refused to mind our own business, but it was nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Growing up, I’d heard quite a different story—one where Clan Nox was painted as brutal, power-hungry savages who were finally conquered by an even-more-savage warlord. As my teachers had told it, Clan Nox had terrorized the region to the point of instability, which is what had given the warlord the opportunity to work his way through the lands mostly unchallenged.

Rhys had no reason to lie—about his clan, about their role in history—which made me wonder… _Why portray Clan Nox as the villains? What was the point?_

“Until, well…” His voice drifted, eyes losing focus.

Defenders, he’d said. His people had been a protective force—a challenge to the cruelty of others. Everything I’d learned, everything I’d been told… None of it had been true—at least not entirely.

_What would Prythian look like today if the massacre had never happened?_

Rhys cleared this throat. “Not everyone could connect with their power fully,” he continued, never noticing the way my mind wandered, “but it was actually quite rare to find someone who was altogether unable to tap into the magic of the world.”

 _Everyone._ It didn’t seem possible. The odds today of being born with abilities were one in two-dozen—at _best._ “So you’ve always…”

“To put it simply, the bogge only amplified by natural gifts when it made me. Before becoming a daemati”—his shadows flared, and the brilliant black of them almost seemed to glow—“I was what you would consider a warlock—and quite a powerful one, even by the standards back then.”

“You mean like—”

“I was _nothing_ like the charlatans of today,” he said, eyes sharp and voice cold. “The Wall has weakened your people’s magic—made them reliant on complicated spellwork and rare combinations of herbs. Old magic— _pure_ magic,” he corrected, “comes from the world itself. It’s a dialogue with the gods; something you _feel_ , not something you _do.”_

I wondered if that had something to do with him being more powerful than even the most gifted sorcerer in Prythian. “And winnowing?”

“The distance you’re able to travel depends both on the extent and the purity of your powers, but it’s a skill anyone with a bit of magic can learn.”

“If it’s so simple—”

“I never said it was simple,” he teased, a smug grin stretching across his face as he set the handkerchief back down on the vanity.

I squinted, annoyed. “You’d think at some point in nearly a thousand years you’d have developed the ability to answer a question directly.”

Rhys slipped his hands into his pockets, his shadows twisting around his forearms and down his legs. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

“Never mind,” I grumbled, scowling a bit. “If _anyone_ can winnow, as you say, how come I haven’t seen it done before?”

“That, Feyre darling, is because people have forgotten how—and those who could’ve passed along the knowledge have, quite unfortunately, died.” He tilted his head to the side, raising his brows a bit. “Centuries of stifling magic has its consequences.”

A red-breasted bird, small and round and likely just a fledgling, landed on the railing of the balcony, stretching its wings wide and running its beak across the still-fluffy feathers. It hopped once, twice, three times before diving off the edge and resuming its journey.

“But _you_ know how,” I said slowly.

“Indeed.”

“So… you could teach someone.” It was a calculated statement, meant to hint at a question without directly having to ask—to gauge how receptive he was to the idea.

His lips turned up in a curious smile. “I suppose I could.”

“Could you…” All my life I’d been told that magic was uncommon as a speckled naga; that people either had it or they didn’t and there was nothing that could be done about it either way. But… the Wall worked by suppressing power; it didn’t eliminate it entirely. And with everything Rhys had said about magic once being everywhere…

He took a lazy step toward where I stood, and I dropped my gaze, unable to look at him directly.

“Could you teach… me?” My voice was hardly more than a whisper, wavering between confident and terrified.

“That depends,” he said slowly; gently.

When I realized he wasn’t going to elaborate, I forced myself to look up once more to meet his stare. “On?”

A faint smile found its way onto his face, nearly unrecognizable amidst the severity of his expression. “What it is you want to learn.”

“Winnowing,” I said, breathless. “I want—” _to get away._ The realization slammed into me with such force that I choked on the words as they got stuck in my throat. I swallowed, trying again. “I want to be able to go anywhere.”

Rhys stared at me for a long moment, puzzling over my response. “Interesting,” he finally murmured.

“You say that a lot.”

“Because you’re interesting.”

The way he was looking at me was beginning to make me flush—like he could see all the pieces of me I was desperately trying to keep hidden. “Well,” I prodded, glancing to the side and then back to him, “can you teach me or not?”

Rhys closed his eyes and angled his head to the side, a mask of concentration settling over his features as his shadows calmed and the room went still.

Without pause, I fortified the wall around my mind, horrified of the possibility that he would learn my real reason for asking this of him. Rhys didn’t react in the slightest, thankfully, which likely meant that whatever he was doing didn’t involve peering into the depths of my consciousness.

From where I stood, I could see two birds swooping and diving and spiraling around each other in a wild dance, the vivid red of their wings tracing a path across the sky. One bird would fly near the other, only for its partner to turn abruptly and put several meters of distance between them again. And again, the other bird would close the gap, passing closer and closer each time. And then they were gone—off to gods-knew-where.

With nothing to distract me, I nervously shifted my feet and crossed my arms in front of my chest—as if that would keep Rhys from seeing some unflattering piece of me. “Well?”

“Interesting,” he mused, tilting his head even more.

“Could you stop saying that?”

“I don’t know how I missed it before.” Briefly, he pinched his eyes tighter shut before opening them fully, a wild, blistering awe reflecting in their sharp violet depths—so at odds with the borderline regretful expression painted on his face.

“Missed _what?_ ”

“Yes, I think I could teach you”—his eyes shuttered, and a chill ran through me at the sight—“but…”

“But _what?_ ”

“It would be painful, Feyre.” His voice was low—a warning. “There’s magic in you— _old_ magic. It’s faint, but… I can feel it in your blood.”

Something stirred in my bones, almost as if the magic he’d spoken of had heard him—had been waiting for someone to acknowledge it. I could feel it, winding and twisting and thrumming, and I knew that what he’d said had been the truth—and I wasn’t sure whether to be frightened or thrilled.

“I don’t understand.” My voice came out weaker than I’d meant.

“The magic, it’s…” He tucked his chin, looking at me through his brows, and I couldn’t think of a single reason why he was speaking as though he was giving me bad news. “The magic has settled deep in your bones, which means I’d have to draw it out, and, trust me… that’s not a pleasant process.”

 _Oh._ “But it _can_ be done,” I said hopefully, unintentionally taking a few steps toward him before I caught myself and stopped.

Rhys dipped his head, tendrils of night curling over his form like a well-made suit. “It would feel like flames were licking along your skeleton; like your body was being turned inside out.” He flicked his gaze up to meet mine, and there was a prayer in the way he looked at me. “I don’t care to cause you pain like that.”

The prickling in my core quieted, replaced by a lurking numbness. It would be foolish to ignore the warning in his words—the promise of unimaginable pain. And yet…

“Please, I want—” I gulped, unwilling to continue that thought; scared of what I might find at the end of it _._ “I want to learn.” It was a plea, pure and simple. At one point, I would’ve been too proud to ask, but now… I didn’t care how desperate I sounded. The brief glimmer of magic had been enough to leave me aching—to know that it was _right there_ and all I needed to do was set it free.

The smile he gave was sad; measured. “Some other time, perhaps.”

“So you won’t teach me.” It wasn’t an accusation so much as an observation, but there was still an edge to the words. I had no right to ask it of him—I had no right to ask _anything_ of him. But… I wanted this. I wanted the ability to winnow… and the freedom which came with it.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then why wait?”

The space around him darkened, as though his shadows had eaten up some of the light. “Because I need time to prepare myself for the way you’re going to scream when I try to access the magic buried deep inside you,” he said honestly, tone purposefully even.

I swallowed—hard. “You were being serious.”

“Very much so.”

I took in his stature—the slope of his broad shoulders and the tension coiling between them—and I suddenly realized that, even though he _could_ help me tap into my magic, he had no _desire_ to do so. “If you teach me to winnow,” I said, careful to keep the confidence in my voice, “I’ll go with you to meet… _her._ ”

His features shifted. “Feyre, I’m not sure you unders—”

“It’s what I want.” I dropped my shields enough to project the feeling, to show him I meant the words.

Rhys considered me carefully, steadily working the muscles in his jaw. “Alright then.” Whispers of shadow danced across the cool marble floor underneath Rhys’s feet, skittering out of existence when they traveled too far.

“So you’ll do it?”

Rhys nodded slowly. “If it’s what you truly want.”

“It is,” I said quickly, as though any delay would undermine my claim.

He paced toward the balcony doors, pure sunlight piercing the midnight shadows cocooning his body. “We can begin tomorrow.”

I turned toward him, almost afraid to ask. “Begin?”

Not even the luminous beams of afternoon light could compete with Rhysand’s night-black aura, each of them eventually fading into nothing as his silhouette devoured their brilliance whole. Arms crossed behind his back and face stretching up to meet the warm, golden rays, he looked every bit like the fallen god he truly was; powerful and ancient—and alone.

“If I tried to expose the full extent of your power all at once,” he said, angling his head to the side so the words would reach me, “you’d likely die from the pain.”

Some echo of fear crystallized along my ribs and the spaces in between; faint enough to ignore but sharp and heavy all the same. “Oh.”

He faced the doors again, back to me as he stretched his neck and let the sunlight wash over him. “Indeed.”

It was easy to forget, sometimes, just how powerful he was. Rhys always kept his magic on such a tight leash, letting it trickle out in small bursts, never loosing more than necessary. Except… twice now I’d gotten a glimpse of the full range of his abilities—once when he’d healed Tamlin and again when he’d stopped those men from hauling me off—and I knew that if he ever chose to focus that energy on me, I’d be more vulnerable than a newly hatched sparrow. Astonishingly, though, the thought didn’t scare me—not in the way it once would have.

“And we’ll need to do this far away from the estate,” he continued, basking in sun’s glow. “The process can be a bit… unpredictable.”

I took a step forward, clenching the fabric of my skirts to keep my nerves at bay. “Is it dangerous?”

He turned partway around, knitting his brows together; a gentle challenge. “If I said yes, would you change your mind?”

“No.” The word felt right on my tongue, and, even with the knots twisting in my stomach, I knew it was true.

“Hmm.”

I huffed and took another step towards him. “ _Hmm_ , what?”

“Your lack of fear is…”—his mouth ticked up in a smirk—“interesting.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to discern exactly what game he was playing. “Is there something specific I should be afraid of?”

Rhys angled his body to face mine fully, wisps of midnight shadow darting across the floor between us until they brushed against the bottom of my skirts. “For starters, you should be afraid of me, but it seems like you missed the boat on that one.”

“I trust you.” I’d meant to reassure him, to show that I’d long-since moved past feeling unsafe around him—but the effect was… something stronger. My cheeks went hot as my mind raced to find some way to take back the words.

True or not, it was… more than I’d meant to say.

Rhys went utterly still. Even his shadows slowed their churning to a near halt, and something shifted behind his eyes as they, almost imperceptibly, widened in reaction.

“I should go,” he said, voice thick, gaze never tearing from mine. Clearing his throat, he took several steps backward, putting another meter between us. “There’s a bit of business I need to take care of in preparation for tomorrow.”

“Rhys—” I started, and it was as if I’d physically pulled him back toward me with how he moved at the sound of his name. “You said winnowing depends on how powerful someone is…”

He nodded.

“Wh—” I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know the answer.

“It’s alright,” he said tenderly. “You can ask.”

“What’s _your…_ limit? How far can _you_ winnow?”

“When I was human,” he began, a softness washing over his features, “I could pretty easily travel a couple leagues in one jump.”

If his abilities were that developed _before_ he was turned into a daemati… I gulped. “And now?”

“Provided I have recently… replenished my stores”—his face turned stony—“I can transport myself anywhere on the globe.”

It felt like all the air in the room suddenly vanished, and a weight dropped in the pit of my stomach. Some part of me had always known he was capable of the unimaginable, but to learn the sheer _scope_ of his abilities was… overwhelming. “How powerful _are_ you?”

“Too powerful,” he said ruefully.

Some surviving fragment of an ancestral bond cried out that I should be afraid of a creature like him—a being who could unmake me with half a thought if he was so inclined. But another piece of me—a newer, bolder piece—wanted a taste of that type of power.

“Until tomorrow, Feyre,” he said, voice low, dipping his head and bending into a shallow bow before turning and taking steps toward the balcony.

“Before you leave…” Rhys froze, head snapping to the side the instant I said the words, and he turned once again to face me. “Can I make a request?”

The light filtering in through the open curtains glinted off his eyes, making them shine brighter than I’d ever seen, like an amethyst with the heart of a star. “Name it.”

There was an honesty in his voice that made me think I could request anything in the world, if I dared. Months ago I would’ve used such a moment to ask him to break the bargain, but now…

Without the bargain, what reason did he have to… to…

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, desperate to bury the thought which had created it. “You said we needed to be far away.”

He nodded.

“How far, exactly?”

“A few miles ought to be sufficient.” He slipped his hands back into his pockets and unhurriedly brought himself back to where he’d been standing a moment before. “Any… _outbursts_ could be easily contained at that distance.”

A shudder ran through me at the idea of what he might’ve meant by _outbursts,_ but I pushed the thought from my mind. “May I pick the spot?”

He gave a soft smile. “Of course.”

“Do you…” It was a ridiculous request. The empty fields a couple leagues away would work just fine—as would whatever spot Rhys no doubt had in mind. I cast my eyes downward, shaking my head slightly.

“Feyre…” he said gently, closing the distance between us by well-over a meter, and the way he said my name made me wonder how I’d survived so long hearing anything else.

And suddenly I realized—the history books and bestiaries and legends had gotten him all wrong. _Demon,_ they called him; _monster._

Perhaps others of his kind were creatures worthy of the fear afforded by the books and first-hand accounts, but… Rhys was different. Monster though he was, he didn’t do monstrous things—not if he could avoid it; not when he was with me.

I tried to bury the revelation deep enough so it wouldn’t show through on my face, and when I finally managed to tilt my chin up, I found that his eyes were kind; steady. The look was enough to chase the last of my nerves away. “Do you remember the meadow you took me to—on Starfall?”

He let out a breath as though he’d just heard the call of a long-extinct bird; soft and wary and hopeful—like the creature might yet be alive. “Yes, I remember it.”

“There,” I said firmly. “I’d like to meet there.”

His smile was the first touch of dawn on a clear morning—when the heavens whispered life into the sky and the world awoke to their siren call. “As you wish,” he said softly, bowing again at the waist—deeper than he had previously—before vanishing with the next breath.

 

* * *

 

“Care to join me?”

Polished black boots gobbled up the bottom half of my skin-tight riding pants, and Tamlin paused what he was doing to take in my appearance. I came to a halt in front of his desk, leather gloves loosely clutched between my fingers and hair pulled back in a simple plait.

His eyes traced up and down my body, lingering on the curve of my hips. “Wish I could, dearest, but”—he rolled his shoulders, as if working an overtaxed muscle in his neck, and went back to reading over the document in his hand, furrowing his brows in the process—“an envoy from the Winter Court is scheduled to arrive within the hour.”

“Is that today?” I said dumbly, feigning an appropriate amount of shock for someone who had carelessly forgotten the arrival of important guests.

“Unfortunately.” There was no mistaking the grumble in his voice, and part of me sympathized with him. The visiting Lord was… a piece of work.

“Would you like me to stay—entertain the people Lord Kallias brings with him?”

Lucien sat to the side of Tamlin’s sprawling desk, watching me carefully. I purposefully ignored him.

“That’s sweet of you”—Tamlin grinned, likely remembering the way I’d wielded words with as much skill as a butcher wielded a blade when Kallias had last visited—“but I’m sure the Lord and his attendants got quite enough _entertainment_ a few months ago.”

“He shouldn’t have spoken poorly of _commoners_ ,” I said viciously, using the same word the Lord had during our exchange, unable to suppress the revulsion seeping to the forefront of my mind at the memory.

Tamlin had been proud of me that day—of the way I’d stood up to the spindly old Lord so far removed from his people that he didn’t understand why anyone would choose to starve. _Choose._ As if it was something they wanted. Offended by my brashness, the Lord left in a huff, taking the rest of his Court with him, and Tamlin had barely been able to keep a straight face as he’d bid the Lord farewell.

“No,” Tamlin smiled, eyes glinting in the filtered sunlight, “he shouldn’t have.”

“I, for one, would _love_ to watch you entertain the Winter Court guests,” Lucien drolled, a playful smirk on his face, idly pivoting the tip of a dagger on the pad of his index finger and watching the way the light danced along the freshly-shined steel.

I narrowed my eyes at him before directing my focus back to Tamlin. “You’re sure you won’t come?” I half-whined, trying to sound disappointed.

It was no accident that I was approaching Tamlin on a day one of the neighboring Courts was visiting for diplomatic talks. I knew before I’d walked into the room that he wouldn’t be able to leave the estate—not for an hour and certainly not for the better part of an afternoon.

“Next time, dearest.” He flicked his eyes up to mine—a plea to understand. “I promise.”

Of course, I didn’t actually want him to join me—not for what I was about to do. But leaving the grounds unannounced wasn’t an option with the way he’d been reacting to things lately. He was anxious about my safety—and I understood that, but… I was also desperate for even an ounce of freedom, risks be damned.

Inviting him on an outing he wouldn’t be able to attend was a perfect way to secure myself some time alone—without raising any suspicions in the process.

“I could go with her,” Lucien offered, uncrossing his ankles from where they were propped on the edge of the desk and sitting forward in his chair.

Tamlin, because he wasn’t focused on Lucien, didn’t see the question swirling behind his emissary’s eyes despite the neutral lilt of his voice. For days now I’d been in a sour mood, and I could see the gears turning in Lucien’s mind. _What are you up to?_ the look said.

“No, I need you here,” Tamlin muttered absentmindedly, never noticing the way his advisor was eyeing me with caution.

I tried not to let the relief show on my face, but the way Lucien squinted ever-so-slightly made me think he knew something was off.

“Thank you for the offer, Lucien,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster.

He frowned a bit, not quite accepting my sudden change in attitude but unwilling to press me further—not with his Lord around, at least. He went back to relaxing in his chair, lazily twirling his blade as though it was just an extension of his arm.

Stepping around the desk, I leaned down to give Tamlin a farewell kiss, pausing just before our lips touched. “I’ll see you this evening when I get back.”

He brought a hand up to my cheek, eyes wandering over my features as if he meant to memorize them. “Take a couple of guards?” he whispered, not so quiet that Lucien wouldn’t hear, but there was a softness in the request I hadn’t heard from him in weeks. It made something swell in my chest. “I’ll feel better knowing they’re with you.”

“Of course.” I nearly choked on the word, the lie hurting more than I’d ever thought it would. He could be overbearing, but… it was only because he cared so much.

Quickly, before I could talk myself out of leaving, I kissed him and excused myself, ignoring the way Lucien’s eyes tracked each step I took on my way out of the room.

As much as I wanted to be honest with Tamlin, I wanted magic more, and… there was no way to explain that without him becoming upset. I’d kept Rhysand’s presence in my life a secret for too long to unveil the truth now, and it would only hurt Tamlin to learn that I’d hidden that part of myself from him.

It was better this way. Maybe once I honed my abilities—whatever they were—I’d tell Tamlin everything… or maybe not.

I didn’t want to think about it anymore.

 _Rhys,_ I said, opening a sliver of my mind to him once I was half-way down the hallway leading toward the East Wing.

He didn’t respond, but I could feel a faint change in my thoughts, like a ripple across the surface of a pond, and I knew he was listening.

_Any chance you could create a diversion for me?_

_What did you have in mind?_

Paintings and sculptures and other hallmarks of a life of elegance were placed thoughtfully along the edges of the corridor, each of them dusted and polished in preparation for the Winter Court’s arrival.

_Tamlin requested that I take guards with me on my ride._

_Well that won’t do,_ he said, tone just on the cusp of playful.

_Can you keep them busy while I leave without them?_

_Am I allowed to maim anyone for the purposes of this diversion?_ he teased.

I stifled a smile, nodding politely at the guard positioned just outside the estate door which led to the stables. Andras, I recalled, thinking of all the times I’d heard Tamlin use his name. He was fairly high up in the rankings, and, from what I could gather, had been a member of the Spring Court guard ever since Tamlin had assumed the title of Lord.

 _No,_ I said, matching his tone.

Whenever Lucien was otherwise occupied, Andras took over security at the estate. He was a good man. Cautious and a bit skeptical of people’s intentions, but I suppose that came with the job. I wondered if Tamlin would blame him when I returned later this afternoon having slipped away without escorts.

 _Pity,_ he continued. _There go at least four of my ideas._

 _No one gets hurt, Rhys,_ I said, putting a bit more force behind the thought.

_As you wish._

 

* * *

 

“Have you done this before?” I asked, nervous and remembering how he’d warned me this process would be unimaginably painful.

Rhys stood roughly ten paces in front of me, jaw clenched tight as if a thorn was pressing into the bottom of his foot. “Yes, but…”

His hesitation wasn’t exactly inspiring confidence. “But what?”

“The two men I previously did this for were already able to access a small part of their power. All I did was tear down the dam which had been preventing them from fully being able to use it. But with you…” he paused, pushing out a strained breath. “Feyre, I’m not sure what this will feel like, but I can promise you it will likely be the most intense pain you’ve ever known.”

It had taken me nearly half-an-hour to make it to the meadow after the guards had all mysteriously been called to the west side of the estate, each of them hurriedly rushing to deal with the non-existent threat. I wasn’t sure what distraction Rhys had conjured, but it had been enough to draw their collective attention—and I’d no doubt hear about the incident over dinner with Tamlin later in the evening.

“I can handle it.” The week I’d spent without Rhysand had made me realize one thing: I wanted a piece of my old life back—the life I’d willingly abandoned when Tamlin had proposed.

Growing up, I’d been able to go anywhere and do anything I pleased. At times, we barely had enough food to last the week, but I’d been _free_ —truly. And I missed that. Being engaged to a Lord was, for the most part, wonderful, but the life came with restrictions that sometimes made me feel like I was suffocating.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

Perhaps it was selfish to want both lives—the one with Tamlin and the one where I could roam wherever I liked—but… I did. I wanted them both. If I could learn to winnow, I could get a piece of that freedom back—and maybe I’d stop resenting Tamlin so much simply for trying to keep me safe.

“I’m sure,” I said, confident in my choice.

Rhys gave a weak smile, setting his jaw as a harmless blue flame crept slowly over his fingertips and up his forearms. And then—

Nothing. He made no move, expression serious; conflicted.

And then his words from the previous day came back to me in a soft echo. _“I need time to prepare myself for the way you’re going to scream when I try to access the magic buried deep inside you.”_

“Would it make it easier if I called you a prick?” I chided, arching an eyebrow.

All at once the tension faded from his face, replaced by a reluctant smirk. “It might.”

“Quit stalling”—I let my lips curl up in a grin and hoped none of my apprehension showed through— _“prick._ ”

“Deep breath, darling,” he said, expression turning solemn despite the comfort in his words. “This will be… unpleasant.”

Rhys flexed his fingers, the blue aura encasing his arms jumping over to me in a wide arc, and then—

Pain. White hot and freezing cold and unbearably sharp—and _everywhere._

Bones in every limb of my body were being crushed and remade over and over and over again; solid to dust to solid to dust. Flames melted what was left, seeking out muscle and blood and heating them until they boiled, and ice crawled along the spaces that had somehow been left untouched, and—

I heard the tail-end of a scream as the pain faded and my mind was able to focus on something other than being ripped apart from the inside. At some point I’d collapsed, I discovered, dragging my hands over the thick grass and under my chest to push myself up onto my knees.

“Why did you stop?” I gasped, throat raw, and I realized the scream I’d heard had been my own.

When I looked up at him, Rhys was panting, palms braced on his knees. “Your shield,” he managed, trying his best to even out his breathing.

Everything I’d felt—every agonizing, torturous lick of pain that had radiated through me like a brushfire, destroying whatever was in its path. “I’m sorry,” I rasped between breaths, trying to parse together exactly when I’d let my wall crumble—how much Rhys had felt before breaking the connection. “I’ll keep it up next time—I promise.”

“No—”

“Please,” I panicked, desperate to see this through. “Don’t st—”

“No, don’t keep it up,” he amended, standing back up to his full height. “I think I can help with the pain—if you’ll let me.”

With some effort, I slowed my breaths, and each time I emptied my lungs I could feel the lingering pangs of discomfort being pushed out along with the used-up air. “How?”

“I can… filter it,” he explained, voice back to normal. “Take some of the edge off.”

I gulped, pushing off my arms and sitting back on my heels. “Won’t that hurt _you?_ ”

“It’s nothing I haven’t felt before,” he said honestly, gaze never faltering.

Shaking my head, I focused on a small patch of clustered white blossoms near his feet. “I won’t let you do that to yourself.”

“And _I_ won’t continue this madness if you’re too stubborn to let me make it less painful,” he countered, voice taut and forceful in a way I’d never heard before; commanding.

I considered him—considered his tone and what he would do if I refused. He wouldn’t relent on his point; I could see it in the way his eyes had turned to granite, fists balled at his sides. “Fine,” I grit.

He nodded, satisfied, and once again sheathed his arms in a blue glow, looking at me expectantly.

I lowered a portion of the shield around my mind, letting him fill the open space I’d created.

 _Focus on my voice,_ he said, warm and comforting in the most unexpected way.

I gave a curt nod and let my eyes drift shut, taking three centering breaths before finally letting him know I was ready to try again.

The initial stab of pain was just as powerful as the first time I’d felt it, but then—

 _Focus on me,_ he ordered, voice distant and muted, as if he was trying to speak over the thick, howling winds of a blizzard.

I screamed and writhed and it was too much, the pain was too much, I would never—

 _Focus on me,_ Rhys commanded again, and I obeyed without question, latching onto his voice, pulling myself closer and closer until I was in the eye storm—and he was there with me.

 _Good,_ he said.

All around me I could sense the pain swirling, cutting, slashing—desperate to burrow into me again—but it could never find its mark. Down my limbs and at the center of my mind I could still feel a near-paralyzing pressure, but it was nothing like the sensations from earlier.

 _Good,_ he said again, sounding like he’d just been socked in the stomach.

The vortex raged on, whipping about in a frenzied rush, unable to reach me despite its best efforts.

_That’s it._

Desperately, as I felt myself starting to slip, I anchored myself to Rhys—to his energy.

_Just a bit more, Feyre._

Without warning, our connection fractured, and I went sailing back into the void of elemental destruction, pain lashing at every inch of my being, tearing my soul to shreds and crushing everything I was until—

“ _Feyre._ ” The last thing I heard before a heavy, smothering darkness eclipsed my mind was him—frantically yelling my name, begging me to stay conscious. “Feyre, stay with me.”

It was too much… and I was so tired…

_Feyre!_


	7. Part VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's pretend this update happened within a reasonable amount of time relative to the last one, k? k.
> 
> (p.s. this update is garbage but it's _an_ update so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ )

A frenzied, consuming fire blazed to life deep in my core, nudged at something that felt like a soul. I tried to ignore it, tried to slip back into that calm blank space I’d found after… whatever it was that had brought me there—but the fire only burned brighter, hotter. 

_ Fight _ , a voice commanded, primal yet soft; a plea wrapped in desperation.

Pulse after pulse of soothing heat tumbled over itself, down my limbs and then back up, circling and undulating again and again and again—until my mind stilled and I could feel tall, wispy blades of grass kissing my cheek.

A thick weight spread over my chest, sinking into me, grounding me. Leaden. Comforting. Familiar.

I blinked lazily, and light flooded my vision. Everything was tilting and blurring, spinning in ways the world never should. And then a face—kind and drawn with worry. “Rhys…?” 

“You’re alright,” he managed between ragged breaths, and I couldn’t tell whether he was shocked or relieved. Perhaps both. He collapsed on the ground next to me, forearm resting atop one of his bent knees, other arm stretched out behind him for support. 

A wave, commanding and bright, had crested through my body, my mind—purifying every fragmented piece of who I was until all of me had been replaced with something new, something better. Sitting up, I brought my hands to rest in my lap and—

The scars—the ones on the backs of my fingers from when I’d fallen into a pile of brambles on my sixteenth birthday. They were… gone. Briefly, as I turned my hands over again and again, gaping at them in wonder, I thought that maybe the magic within me… but… no. The power required to heal wounds like that was something only a handful of the most skilled healers possessed. Even then, it took  _ years _ to learn how to repair previously damaged flesh. 

And then I noticed the pale lavender color of Rhys’s irises and the ghostly tint of his skin, remembered the surge of energy just before I’d opened my eyes. He’d healed me. It was the only explanation. But that meant… “Rhys, why?” Using his power on me like that… it only led to one thing. “Why did you—”

“I could feel you slipping,” he said, voice rough as he pushed a hand through his hair, trying to comb the blue-black strands back into place—only to have them fall back down.

I gulped, mind flitting from one fact to the next, each thought propelling me farther and farther down a clear, terrifying path which led to only one truth. “How many… How many people will you have to—”

“Don’t think about that.” Rhys clenched his jaw, gaze dropping from me to the ground.

“But if I hadn’t asked you to—”

“I wasn’t being careful enough.” He wouldn’t look at me, lip pulling back in disgust or frustration or anger, I couldn’t quite tell. 

Three winters ago, before Tamlin had begun courting me, a lightning storm had ravaged the woods surrounding our farm. Some of the oldest trees in the grove had been cleaved in two—ripped apart by the untamed wrath of angry, forgotten gods. A towering redwood had just barely survived—blackened veins of scorch marks spider-webbing along the bark, marbling the tree from root to tip; limbs shorn clean from the trunk, heaped in piles around its base.

Now, looking at Rhys, I could nearly see the ghosts of his own fallen branches scattered in a halo around his slumped form, tangling with his shadows. Could nearly make out the raw edges of a tattered, decaying soul—struggling to cling to brittle, ever-vanishing shreds of humanity.

“What happened is my fault”—he pressed his teeth together—“as is everything that will happen now.” 

The tree had survived the storm—for a time. But the lightning had damaged more than just the bark, causing it to rot from within. And then one day, without warning, it had collapsed.

“Rhys—”

“Do you think you can make it back to the estate by yourself?” he said, voice distant, eyes unfocused.

“Yes, but—”

“Good.” He pushed himself to standing. “Don’t… linger in the forest.”

“Rhys, please.” I stood, reaching for him, words getting caught in my throat. “Let me h—”

He jerked away, and I wanted to curse myself for being so careless. “This is something I have to take care of on my own.” He stared at a spot near his feet, refusing to look at me.

“Please—there has to be another—”

“I’m a monster, Feyre.” A savage chill stained each clipped word as Rhys slowly, painfully dragged his gaze back to mine. 

Seeing the dim, grey-purple of his eyes fractured something in me, and a sharp pain blossomed in my chest, gripped my lungs and refused to let in any air. 

“This is what monsters do,” he grit, resigned.

And then he was gone, swallowed by thick, midnight shadows and a cold, cursed wind.

 

* * *

 

Lucien was waiting for me when I returned to the estate, leaning against one of the shoulder-high fence posts surrounding the stables. His arms were crossed over his chest, and light from the low-hanging sun painted his hair a deep, fiery red. Judging by the annoyed look on his face, he’d been there for quite some time.

I slid myself off Butterscotch, taking my time to smooth a palm over her neck as I gathered the reins in one hand. “Need something, Lucien?” 

He said nothing but fell into step beside me, gait even though every muscle in his body seemed coiled tighter than a freshly twisted rope. Months ago I’d heard a guard whispering about how Lucien could see things no one else could—as though he’d been born with some sense the rest of us lacked.

Staring at the ground, I led Butterscotch up the hill to the stables, tried to give myself time to order my thoughts before making eye contact with Tamlin’s emissary again.

“You disappeared,” he finally said, tone flat. “After the disturbance on the west side of the estate, we…” Lucien gulped. “I thought the worst.”

I flicked my eyes up to his, careful with the words I chose. “I’m fine.” A shrug. “I didn’t feel like waiting for the guards to return.”

He angled his head, appraising me, weighing the merit of what I’d said.

I clicked my tongue and led Butterscotch into her stall. From the corner of my eye I saw the shadow of a stable hand waiting just outside the doors. I bristled, the idea of someone eavesdropping raising my hackles, but then I remembered: he was only waiting to care for Butterscotch.

I draped her reigns over a bar and stepped out of the stall. Lucien hadn’t moved.

“I should go see Tamlin.” The words spilled out much too quick, and I blinked my gaze away from Tamlin’s second. The longer I spoke to him, the more likely it was that he’d realize I’d not told him the whole truth. “He’s probably—”

“Tamlin doesn’t know,” he said, voice cracking over the words just enough to betray his composure.

My breath caught in my throat as I slowly pressed my lips together, wary. It was unlike Lucien to keep things from his Lord.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think it wise to worry him when we weren’t sure if you were even in danger,” Lucien supplied, voice light and loose in all the wrong spots. His lips twitched to one side, hand going to the pommel of the sword slung low around his waist. “You know how he can get.” 

He’d tried to mask it, but there was no missing the anxiety that washed over his features. I eyed him carefully. “Of course.”

Lucien took a deep breath, and some of the tension melted from his face. “Did you enjoy your ride?” he asked, the sharp sheen in his eye at odds with his casual tone.

“It was just what I needed,” I said, meeting his gaze, pleased that I had found a way to be truthful.

He hummed. “Allow me to escort you back inside? I’m sure you’d like to”—his eyes raked over me, at the earthen stains on my clothes and skin—“clean up before dinner.”

I tried for a smile. It felt hollow. “A bath sounds delightful, but I know my way to my quarters.”

Lucien offered me his arm. “I insist.” Something like a sneer rippled over his lips, daring me to refuse.

I looked from his elbow to his face and back again, loosing a sigh as I slipped my arm through his. “You’re too kind.”

 

* * *

 

Tamlin shifted beside me, withdrawing his arm from where it had been draped across my waist as he turned over onto his side. He so rarely spent the night with me anymore, I hadn’t refused him when he’d asked—despite most of my attention being focused on Rhys, what he was having to do, if he was alright, if he was starving himself.

I rolled onto my back, fisting a hand in the sheet covering my chest. The material gleamed in the moonlight like silken, liquid metal as it bunched against my bare skin, and I carefully opened a sliver in my mental shields.

_ You could have let me die. _

As soon as I projected the words, I felt a pressure behind my eyes, like I’d stared directly into the sun. The same thing had happened earlier when I’d taken a bath before dinner and unintentionally wicked the water from my skin simply by thinking that I wanted to dry off. Thankfully, none of the maids had been near enough to hear me shriek.

It was like trying to force wind into a jar—controlling the power Rhys had unlocked. The magic seemed to respond randomly, if at all, to my thoughts and feelings. It felt like… like flexing a muscle I never knew I even had.

_ You said you were a monster. Well, that’s what a monster would have done. _

And yet… and yet he’d sacrificed a piece of himself to keep me whole.

_ You could have let me die and taken my heart and been done with me. That  _ was _ our deal, after all. So why drain yourself… to  _ save _ me? _

The tingling behind my eyes subsided, but I still couldn’t sense Rhys—not even an echo of him.

_ Fine. Pretend like you don’t hear a word I’m saying—but we both know better. _

Before, I’d never been able to feel it—the vastness of the space between our minds, but now… It was as if I was standing on the shoreline of an infinite ocean, the light of a waning moon high overhead, toes buried in rough, pliant sand as I looked out into the black water. Somewhere, amidst the waves, was Rhys—though I was clueless about how to locate him, how to forge a link as he’d so often done with me.

And now that I understood the magnitude of the landscape, it seemed impossible.

I waited a breath.

Then another.

_ This is hopeless.  _ I let out a sigh and slowly tugged on the gate to my mind until—

A presence—old and terrible and… gentle—brushed up against my mental shield. 

_ Rhys.  _ Never before had I felt him so strongly—not any of the times we’d communicated like this.

_ I’ve been a daemati for so long that I nearly forgot what it was to be human,  _ he said, every word melting into me until it felt like it was my own. _ But you… you remind me. _

I didn’t know what to say, what to think, what to feel. And suddenly the exchange seemed more intimate than I’d ever planned on it being. 

_ With you around, I don’t feel so alone. _

He sounded weak, bits of his exhaustion slipping across the bridge between our minds, muddying the waters of that never-ending ocean with a heavy, bone-deep tiredness.

_ Rhys— _

_ Get some sleep, Feyre. _

Rhys severed the link, and I felt a sharp snap as the void rushed in to fill the spaces shaped like him—until I was once again alone, an uncomfortable tightness creeping through my body.

_ It’s just the magic,  _ I told myself. Ever since yesterday I’d been feeling an ache along my bones whenever it receded, reminding me even in its absence that it existed—this new, unpredictable, roiling energy inside me.

Closing off my mind, I shifted to fit myself against Tamlin, palm smoothing over his muscled chest and settling just over his ribs. 

He’d been making an effort—to include me in things, to speak gently, to give me space even when he feared what might happen. He was still keeping things from me, though—perhaps out of necessity, but it stung all the same—and guards still trailed me wherever I went. No matter how subtle they tried to be, I could always tell when Tamlin had ordered his men to keep an eye on me.

But he was trying. And with the secrets I was currently keeping, I had no right to be upset about any of his—past or present.

I swallowed.  _ When did I become like this? _

Tamlin  stirred and covered my hand with his, tugging me closer until I was pressed flush against his back. He could be so soft—when no one was looking; when he didn’t have to put on a front to protect his people.

I splayed my fingers until his found a home in the spaces between mine.

One month and two days remained until we said our vows, confirming me as Tamlin’s wife and Lady of the Spring Court. Maybe it would be enough time to develop my abilities and come up with a way to explain everything that had happened. Telling Tamlin now wouldn’t change anything, and he’d likely ask questions I didn’t yet have the answers to.

It would be better—for us, for our relationship—if I waited just a bit longer.

I dropped a kiss between Tamlin’s shoulder blades and nestled into his warmth. It’s what I always used to do—before… everything. 

He sighed and tangled his legs with mine. Once, his touch had been a comfort—something I’d yearned for. Now, though, it just felt… foreign. 

Fair or not, I was still relearning to love him.

I took a steadying breath and closed my eyes, willing myself into the soothing embrace of a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Bright rays of light scattered through the translucent mosaic panels of the towering stained glass window on the far wall, sharp triangles of blue and yellow and orange swaying across the cold, grey-stone floor of the abbey. A smear of green danced along the hem of my tan-brown skirts, and for a moment it was easy to picture the tall grass of the meadow around my feet; it was easy to pretend I was leagues away, testing the limits of the power thrumming through my veins.

“…Miss Archeron…”

Distantly, I heard the monk mention my name. He’d been doing that a lot. It was an interesting feeling having a conversation with a person who’d deemed it appropriate to talk  _ about _ me rather than  _ to _ me.

“Miss Archeron?”

Brother Vin had been droning on and on about the weight of this commitment—about how I might not be  _ “refined enough”  _ for life as a Lady. It was insulting, but Tamlin had warned me to expect as much.  _ “We’re obligated to meet with them, but they don’t have any control over whether or not we actually get married.” _

_ Then what’s the point?  _ I’d wanted to ask.

I was starting to understand, though. The  _ point _ was to wear me down until I no longer  _ wanted _ to wed Tamlin. And, if I was being honest, it was kind of working.

“Feyre.” Tamlin’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

I blinked and straightened my spine, fixing my gaze on the aging monk as I coaxed a measure of innocence into my tone. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” 

The skin on Brother Vin’s shaved head pulled taut as he furrowed his greying brows in annoyance. He was probably just offended I’d chosen to ignore his prattling. 

_ He has no power,  _ I reminded myself, smiling sweetly as I bit down on a smart remark that tried to worm its way out of me.

Tamlin placed a hand on my elbow and directed his attention to the monk. “Would you give us a moment alone?” he said, voice kind but forceful.

The monk nodded deeply. “As the Lord wishes.” Brother Vin brought his fists together in the traditional Velarian gesture before striding from the room and soundlessly closing the door behind him.

Silence settled in as soon as the overly-large oak panels clicked shut, and I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I know this is important, I just—”

“It’s alright.” He turned to face me, giving a reserved half-smile as he ran his hands up and down my arms in reassurance. “Truth be told”—Tamlin laced his fingers with mine, tone more casual now that the monk had left—“I was starting to tune him out a bit, too.”

I pushed out a breath and managed a weak smile. “Is all of this really necessary, Tam?”

_ Say we’re leaving.  _

He sighed, thumbs smoothing over the backs of my hands, eyes downcast. “It’s a lot, I know—” 

_ Say you’ve heard enough.  _

“—but our traditions exist for a reason—”

_ Say you don’t care what he thinks. _

“—to make sure whoever marries the sitting Lord is prepared for and accepts the responsibilities of the title of Lady.”

_ I don’t  _ want  _ any of those responsibilities. _ I bit back the words hammering against my teeth, chiseled them into something that wouldn’t earn me a disappointed glance. “How many more of these appointments are we expected to attend, again?”

“Only five,” he said, clearly as excited about the meetings as I was.

“Wonderful,” I deadpanned. 

“Dearest”—he quirked an eyebrow, tone playful—“am I to believe that you’re not having fun being repeatedly questioned and talked down to?”

Dull amusement pulled at the corners of my mouth, stretched my lips into a thin line. “Now what gave you that idea?”

Tamlin swung our interlocked hands from side to side. “Oh, just a hunch,” he teased. 

The way he spoke to me… it felt familiar. Real. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it,” he continued, “but my mother hated this process, too. She was quite offended that so many old, celibate men wanted to question her commitment to my father and this Court.”

I stood a bit straighter. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. It’s a fairly well kept secret”—he dropped his voice until it was nothing more than a whisper—“but she yelled at more than one of them.”

“Lady Dahlia?” I fought to keep my jaw from dropping open. “Surely you’re joking.”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, some of that regal distance returning to his tone. “Please don’t think poorly of her for it.”

“Hardly.” I shook my head, grinning. “I  _ admire _ her for it.”

Tamlin angled his head, golden sun gleaming against the forest-green of his eyes. “Don’t tell the Brotherhood, but so do I.” A small, tentative smile found its way onto his face. “I’m sure if she was still here she’d be giving them hell all over again on your behalf.”

I watched as the light in his eyes dimmed, the shadow of her memory finding the seams of some still-unhealed wounds. “I wish I’d gotten to meet her,” I said.

He squeezed my hands, took a breath to chase away the sheen beginning to coat the inner rims of his eyes. “Me, too.” 

Silently, I stepped forward, wrapped my arms around him, laid my head against his chest—and for a moment it was easy to pretend that we were the same couple we had been half-a-year ago; that Tamlin had never been poisoned and I’d never ventured into the Steppes; that I’d never made the deal with Rhys; that I’d never learned secret after secret he’d chosen to keep from me; that I’d never made the choice to keep secrets of my own; that my love for him was just as strong now as it had been on the day he’d proposed.

I pulled back, unable to stomach the closeness between us a moment longer—not with the guilt burning me in all the places his arms held me.

“Well”—he cleared this throat—“ready to get this over with?”

_ No. Yes. I don’t know.  _ “Call him back,” I said, rolling my shoulders to correct my posture. “I’m ready to prove my devotion to the realm.”

He tugged me close and pressed his lips to mine. “I love you.”

Thirty-one days. Thirty-one sunsets until we were tethered together for the rest of our lives.

“I love you, too.” The words slipped out with practiced ease, and I prayed he couldn’t hear the glimmer of doubt in my voice—hoped he wouldn’t be able to tell that I was no longer sure if I really meant it.

Tamlin only smiled and called for Brother Vin to join us once more.

 

* * *

 

Closing my eyes against the early morning sounds of the meadow, I blocked out the rustling grass and softly singing birds until every sliver of my attention was trained on awakening the power sleeping within me. I dug deeper and deeper, searching for the wild, feral torrent of energy that had erupted from me twice in the week since Rhys had torn down the dam keeping it contained.

The magic… I could feel it coursing through me—but every time I tried to harness it, it slipped just out of reach, like water through a sieve. My riding pants stuck to my skin and sweat beaded on my brow from the effort, breaths coming in labored huffs as I struggled to bend this new power into something I could control.

Though I couldn’t see it, I could feel the sun as it slowly crested over the tree line, its golden brilliance traveling inch by inch down my form. And then I remembered something Rhys had said once—

_ “It’s something you  _ feel _ , not something you  _ do _.” _

The magic seemed to almost purr in response to the memory.

Slowly, I shifted my focus from commanding the power inside me to  _ feeling _ the world around me—warmth from the sun heating my skin; a kind wind tugging at the ends of my loosely braided hair; damp, foggy moisture hanging thick in the chilled morning air; fat dew drops clinging to new, bright green leaves.

Something in me lurched at that, and so I concentrated on the tiny droplets peppering the plant life around me. I pictured them making a ring around my body, hovering and rotating in a thin, delicate circle. Cautiously, I opened my eyes—and just as I’d imagined, a narrow band of water twisted around my waist, no more than an arm’s length away. Everything in me strained to maintain it, to control it.

“You’re a natural.”

The beads of water fell, splattering on the tall grass as I whirled to see Rhys—hands tucked into his pockets, violet eyes sharp with mischief, pride flashing across his otherwise unreadable face. 

“Rhys—”

“That’s not such a good idea,” he warned, quickly taking a half-step back, gaze locked on my outstretched hand. 

I froze; stared at my palm. I hadn’t thought, hadn’t realized… “Right.” Curling my fingers inward, I let my fist drop to my side. 

Inky shadows pooled around his feet, climbed the legs of his spotless, midnight black trousers. He looked… whole. Healthy. 

Rhys relaxed his broad shoulders as he returned to his original spot about three paces in front of me, a lazy smile on his face to match the cool ease of his movements—but I’d seen the way he’d flinched; the way he continued to look at me with a wary eye.

I clasped my hands behind my back. “You seem… better.”

He gave a weak smile, gaze tracing the line of my arms to where they disappeared. “How have you been?” he said idly, voice low and tight.

_ Worried about you. _ I swallowed the words, adding another layer to my mental shields for good measure. “Fine.” It came out as a whisper. “And you?”

Rhys waited a beat. “Fine.” His darkness seemed to groan as it pressed on the world, hungry to devour the radiant puddles of sunlight pouring through the gaps in the trees.

_ How are you really?  _ I clenched my teeth, forcing back the question I had no right to ask. “Rh—”

“Care to show me what you can do, darling?” His face was soft but his eyes were fierce.  _ Don’t,  _ they seemed to say.

I could only nod. “You might… want to stand back.”

He whittled a smirk onto his face. “You can’t hurt me.” Not a challenge, per se; just a simple truth. No matter how powerful I was, he was a daemati. His magic was an ocean where mine was barely a puddle.

“We both know that’s not true.” The words were out before I even knew that I was saying.

A shadow washed over him, darkening his gaze, dragging the corners of his mouth down. He pressed his lips together and took several steps away. “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

Twenty days.

Tamlin and I were in the final stages of planning the wedding. The priests hadn’t rejected me, the flowers had been chosen, the guests had been invited, and my dress was being sewn. There was little else left to do save show up.

Frigid claws pierced my mind, and I slammed up a protective wall—and the hoop of water swirling around me fell to the ground with a discouraging  _ splat _ .

“You’re distracted,” came Rhys’s smooth, steady voice.

I bit back a curse and met his gaze. “I’m fine.”

In the weeks since Rhys had first unlocked my power, I’d done nothing but practice. With a bit of effort and a full serving of luck, I could light candles without a match and draw water from a pump without laying a hand on it; I could direct life back into winter-starved plants and control a breeze with nothing more than a thought—for a few moments, until the magic’s toll became too great for me to pay.

Rhys rolled his fingers toward a gap in the trees, toward the estate. “If you would prefer—”

“I wouldn’t.” The words came out too harsh, too clipped. I sighed and set my jaw. 

His eyes wandered over me. “As you wish,” he said slowly, and called a flame into his hand, black as the shadows writhing around his feet.

“Who taught you how to do all of”—I gestured at him, his magic—“this?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. Darkness slithered over his shoulders, down his arms.

I thought I might’ve overstepped when—

“My mother.” He pressed out a breath and the night-black tendrils receded. When his violet eyes met mine, there was a raw intensity in his gaze.

It was easy to forget, looking at him, that he had not always been this way. That he’d once had a family, that he’d once been mortal.

Wind whispered across the meadow, capturing my hair in its dance. I smoothed a hand over it and asked the breeze to part around me. In the stillness, golden-brown strands settled back on my shoulders. “Will you tell me about her?”

A smile, small but genuine, stretched across Rhysand’s face. “Very good, Feyre.”

It took me a moment to realize why he offered praise—but then I gasped. The wind. It kissed every blade of grass except for the ones around my feet.

Suddenly I understood. It wasn’t about will or might or power. Trying to force the elements only caused them to rebel. I closed my eyes and pictured a glowing fire, imagined its warmth on my skin, asked it to find a home in the palm of my hand—and when I opened my eyes, orange flames danced between my fingers.

“As I said,” Rhys continued, violet eyes glinting in the clear morning light, “you’re a natural.”

Bliss cascaded over my limbs, pooled at the base of my skull. With half a thought, a thin stream of water was snaking between the fingers of my other hand.

“Now you’re just showing off,” he chided, but there was pride in his voice.

Laughter bubbled out of me and magic coursed through me and a smile pinched at my cheeks.

An unreadable expression settled onto Rhysand’s face. I let my connection with the elements fade. Fire became smoke and water turned to mist and wind once again tugged on my hair. Rhys furrowed his brow.

“Shall we see what else I can do?” Energy crackled at my fingertips, pounded through my veins.

A mischievous grin split Rhysand’s lips. “I would love nothing more.”

 

* * *

 

Sweat beaded on my neck and exhaustion ripped the breath from my lungs. “Aren’t you tired?”  We’d been training for hours, Rhys challenging the limits of my power with a mere fraction of his own. Still, it seemed odd for him to be so… unaffected.

“I don’t feel fatigue the same way you do,” he supplied, lips pulling to the side in the faintest of smiles.

I huffed and repositioned my feet, readying myself for the next barrage of tests. “Must be nice,” I muttered, more to myself than him, but—

Rhys went utterly still, shadows sucking tight to his body, hands dropping to his sides. “You think I  _ enjoy _ being this way?” His voice was thin, calm.

I sighed, closing my eyes against his sharpened gaze. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Rhys ground his teeth, and I decided to try again. 

“Your magic—it…” I pressed my lips together to keep from making the same mistake twice as I reordered my thoughts. “It gives you a freedom the rest of us can only dream about.”

“Freedom?” His mouth curved around the word as though it tasted sour, and the patience that had been tempering his emotions yielded to something else—something with teeth.

“You d—”

“Power isn’t freedom,  _ Feyre _ .” My name sounded like a curse on his tongue, and a piece of me crumpled at the harshness of it. “You’d do well not to confuse the two,” he finished.

“I didn’t—”

“I think that’s enough for today,” he said evenly, slipping his hands into his pockets and turning away from me.

“Rhys—”

He paused, and for a moment I thought he might stay—might give me another chance. 

“I didn’t mean—”

Shadow and night swallowed him whole, and the only indication that he’d ever been standing in the meadow were the two perfectly formed boot prints and the aching silence staining the fresh, spring air.

**Author's Note:**

> join me on [tumblr](http://yalenayardeen.tumblr.com) for more magic and angst.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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